The Stronghold
by Fin Tuscany
Summary: Max and Logan investigate the breeding cult, while Alec seems to be cracking up. Murder! Mayhem! Big Action! A Love Triangle. ~ Concluded ~
1. Alec Misses His Shot, pt.1

Disclaimer: The following story is a work of fan fiction, and in no way intended as a challenge to the legal ownership of Dark Angel. 

Note: This story is set in Season Two, between Exposure, and Hello, Good-bye. 

  
  
  
  


The Stronghold

  
  


by Fin Tuscany

  
  


1. Alec Misses His Shot, pt.1

Crash was loud and crazy busy, packed with Jam Pony crew. Like working stiffs the world over, Max and Original Cindy were splitting a pitcher and chewing over the day. Cindy generally liked to get the work related complaining in right off the top. Max was good for a few drinks, but sooner or later she'd get around to moping about Logan and there was nothing to be done about that. Cindy had true faith that Max and Logan would beat the virus and get their lovin,' but her girl had world weight on her shoulders and that was a fact. "Normal was too happy today," said OC suddenly. "Did you see that?"

"I know!" said Max. "What's his deal? He was almost a person."

Sketchy flopped into a chair, sloshing beer on the table. He was wearing a loud Hawaiian shirt. "Productivity," he said.

"Productivity?" asked Max. 

"What are you wearing?" said Cindy with obvious distaste. "What is that thing on your back?"

"I just beat Alec's ass at the pool table," announced Sketchy.

"You did not," said Max.

"Ask him yourself. He's chatting up some hottie at the bar."

"I will," said Max.

"We need some sunglasses if you're going to wear that ugly thing," said Original Cindy.

"It's vintage. I like it," said Sketchy.

"You would," said OC.

"My man Alec gave it to me," said Sketch, with some pride. "It's part of an ongoing campaign to make up for getting the crap beat out of me."

"A limited campaign," said Alec, joining the table. "But hey, have fun while it lasts." He and Sketchy enjoyed a complicated handshake. Max rolled her eyes. 

"Don't sit here," she groused. "There isn't enough room."

"I thought you were at the bar," said Sketch. "How did you hear what I said?"

"There's plenty of room," said Alec. He gave Max an obnoxious one-armed hug, and stretched out his legs. He said to Sketchy, "I was right behind you, man. There's no action at the bar."

"There's no action here, neither," said Cindy. "We just piss and moan."

"Let me guess," said Alec. "Max is mooning over Logan, again."

Cindy sighed, exasperated. "That part of the evening hadn't started yet. But thank you for bringing it up."

"I am not mooning over anybody," said Max. "Let's get back to productivity."

"Yes, let's," said OC.

"Whatever," said Sketch. "Business is a-hopping. Deliveries are up. Normal can't believe how fast we're getting those packages out."

"Some of the new messengers are uniquely qualified," Alec said wryly, dismissing the subject.

"It gives Normal more time to work on his stupid leaflets," Cindy said, exchanging a glance with Max.

"Tell them I beat you at pool," Sketch demanded.

"You let him win," said Max.

"Low blow!" said Sketchy. "Way to hit a guy where it hurts."

Alec shrugged. "Sketchy beat me fair and square. I've never thrown a match, and I don't plan to start now." He shot Max a dark look. 

"Oh, please," said Max.

Alec made a face at her. He said, "I'm not feeling so hot, anyway."

"What do you mean?" said Max.

Sketchy took a long swig of beer, burped, and said, "He was all thumbs."

"That's attractive," said Cindy. "Those are some nice manners."

"I'm just saying he missed his shot. I nearly fell over," said Sketch. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Max raised an eyebrow, surprised. She and Alec were transgenics, escapees from a secret military breeding program known as Project Manticore. They were the X-5 model, superior warriors. Except for the bar codes on the back of their necks, they could pass as human. X-5s were genetically enhanced, and certainly not clumsy. The gene for clumsiness had most likely been ruthlessly eradicated by a faceless Manticore scientist. Super soldiers did not trip over their own feet. 

Alec seemed to follow her line of reasoning. "I don't know what the problem is," he admitted. "It's weird. Maybe I'm coming down with something."

"Like what?" said Max. After all, they also had enhanced immune systems. "That's not possible. I've never been sick."

"What does that have to do with Alec having a cold?" asked Sketch, looking at her curiously.

Original Cindy, who knew the truth, cleared her throat. "That is just nasty," she covered smoothly. "Who wants to talk about germs?"

"I'd rather talk about Max's love life," said Sketchy. "Give us details. Sweaty details."

Alec laughed out loud. "Yes, give us all the details, Max."

"Shut up," said Max.

"Now you're just being mean," said Cindy. 

"There she goes," said Alec, looking at Max. "Show us that lip, Max. That's quite a pout."

"Stop it," said Max.

"You guys are like brother and sister," said Sketchy. "Mom, he's touching me! She touched me first!" Alec laughed.

"That is just too creepy," said Max. "I'm outta here." She tossed some cash on the table. "You're not sick," she said to Alec, "you're imagining things." She shrugged into her jacket, and hit the bricks.

"Now look what you did," said Cindy.

"Aw, I was just foolin' around," said Alec.

"It's true," Cindy allowed. She was always fair. "My boo can pout."

"Yeah," said Sketchy, dreamily.

"Oh, stop it," said OC crossly. "Now you're making me leave, too. See, here I go."

With that she floated away, hoping for better luck elsewhere. Alec and Sketchy sat at the table. "This is no fun," said Alec.

"How come we always have to pay for Cindy's beer?" said Sketch. "We have no girls and we're stuck with OC's tab."

"Ah, jeez," said Alec, fishing around in his pocket. "I don't mind. I always enjoy Cindy's company. Unlike Max, Cindy is a real lady."


	2. Alec Misses His Shot, pt.2

2. Alec Misses His Shot, pt.2

Alec walked home in the wretched Seattle rain. He pulled his hood over his head and turned up his collar. He felt muzzy and stupid. But he couldn't be sick, Max was right.

He was just off his game. Feeling a little blue. Dumb town, he thought. It was wet and crappy yesterday, and it'll be wet and crappy tomorrow. He reflected, and not for the first time, that it was stupid to stay, gradually being lulled into a false sense of security. One day the hammer was going to drop, and he would kick himself for not getting out while the getting was good. For the time being, he was stuck in the hot zone, flying in the grass, and torpidly circling the fringe of Max and Logan's lunatic crusade.

Only a few months ago, he had stood on a hillside in the grey night, horrified, watching Manticore and everything he understood about his life go up in flames. He was on the outside, alone and on the run. America was a neo-fascist police state, lurching along in eternal economic depression. Alec made a plan to put together some quick cash, beetle on up to Canada, and dig himself deep underground. His plan had blown up in his face, frankly amazing him. He had been briefly captured by Ames White, the whack-job in charge of mopping up Project Manticore. White had tagged him with an explosive device.

Max had used the last of her cash to bankroll the procedure to remove White's bomb from the base of his skull. Alec had been totally flummoxed. The gesture seemed to come out of left field. He knew now, that was the way Max operated. 

For a moment, he thought wistfully of their first meeting. Max had been in lock-down, only recently recaptured by Manticore. Entering her cold little cell, he had covered his apprehension at coming face to face with one of the '09 escapees, an unrepentant traitor. He announced they had been assigned to be breeding partners. She had kicked him across the room. He never did get a piece of her action, and she had made it plenty clear since that she was holding a torch for Logan. 

Max was exotic, enigmatic, and exactly what Manticore had ordered from the lab. In her element, she was a leader. A great lateral thinker, she was tough and charismatic. The rank and file would follow her into the fray, and smile lovingly at the thought of her as they lay down their lives. No wonder Manticore couldn't control her.

Of course, the big con was already in play. Infect her with the retro virus, give her brain a scramble, and follow her back to her honey, the subversive cable hacker and thorn in Manticore's side, Eyes Only. The virus was genetically targeted to Logan's DNA. All Alec had to do was watch him die.

Alec didn't consider himself responsible for any of that. He'd been following orders. If he had a spark of the genius that produced Max's rebellion, it had been painfully cauterized through torture and indoctrination. He was peeling away that ugly mass of scar tissue, but he didn't yet know who he was going to be.

His designation had been X5-494. When Max gave him his name, Smart Alec, she was being flip and seditious. Strangely, he found himself wanting to earn it, and his life as well. Not to mention that the suck factor in owing Max his life was huge, nightmarish, even. Alec had never before experienced personal obligation; it bothered the hell out of him. He compared it to reaching for his rifle, and having it morph into a snake. He needed to pay Max back in a big way. He wished Logan would get buried alive by a psycho, or something good like that. Then he could rescue the jerk, and hand him to Max on a silver platter

Alec privately thought of Logan as a sanctimonious techno-geek, with a self-imposed mission. He had a certain amount of trouble getting that Max couldn't see her way clear to throwing a bit of spice his way while she waited for her chance with Logan. Helping out another soldier, and all. He didn't see why it should interfere with her yen for wheelchair-guy. In his mind they were two totally separate issues.

  
  


She was lonely. Apart from the drone of her tires, the night was calm. The street was wet and black, reflecting the pulse of neon signs. She could hear the faint buzzing. She rode her motorcycle aimlessly. 

She knew she wasted a lot of time. A normal person would sleep away these hours, releasing themselves into the respite of their dreams. Max didn't need to sleep, and habitually went days without sack time. Unfortunately, that meant she was never very far from the cares and difficulties of her life. 

Sometimes, she thought about getting a hobby, or studying, but Manticore had ruined structured activities for her for all time. All she wanted was an unlimited amount of time to inhabit, to do exactly what she was doing now, nothing. 

She wasn't like Joshua. She didn't have the soul of an artist. She didn't like to read. Even Alec went over to Joshua's to play piano from time to time, although he didn't know she knew. She couldn't play an instrument, and had no inclination to learn. She didn't feel settled enough to take on any big projects. She was waiting.

OC, Sketchy, even Normal, they were real people. They all had lives. The little things that made up the rhythm of average day-to-day life, she never learned any of that. Most people were genetic grab bags, capable of surprising you in a thousand different ways. She had been designed in a laboratory, cooked up in a test tube. She had a blue print, and it said one thing: advanced infantry. She had been born and bred to be the perfect soldier. Her phone buzzed. She got it out of her pocket and tucked it between her chin and her shoulder. "Yeah," she said.

"I knew you'd be up." It was Logan. "Come on over, I've got something cooking."

"Okay." She hung up.

She felt a little warmer. Pleased. It would be nice to have some company.

  
  
  
  


There's always the Asha angle, Alec was thinking. That was the cat fight of the century waiting to happen. And over a dweeb like Logan! Was there no justice? What a stupid-ass soap opera. Alec hoped he was there when it all came to a boil. Asha was a cutie, too. Maybe he should offer himself as a gallant pinch-hitter, to help her while away the lonely hours as she pined for Logan, who was in turn, eating his heart out over Max. He filed that thought away for future reference. Ex-soldiers make great mercenaries. 

He came around the corner, a few blocks from his house. Speaking of mercenaries, he spied a working girl on the prowl. She was pretty high-end, from the look of her. With masses of glossy black hair, and a long leather coat over a shiny mini dress, she was altogether a tight little package. Too good for the neighborhood, but a fine cure for a fine fellow who just happened to be in the dumps.

"I'm looking for a party," said Alec, approaching her. Love was for suckers, and all girls were the same in the dark.

She looked at him for a moment. "You've got the wrong idea," she said.

"You're the one standing under a street lamp," said Alec. "In the rain, no less. You make a very pretty picture." He gave her one of his most winning smiles. Maybe he could keep his wallet in his pocket. This could be his lucky night after all. 

"I don't need a man," she said. She seemed to lose her train of thought.

"Honey, are you all right?" asked Alec. He didn't care about her troubles, it just seemed the thing to say.

"You know," she said oddly. "I'm lost. Isn't that silly? I've lived in this town all my life."

Alec sighed. She was a kook. "Where are you going?" he asked. "Excuse me if I made a mistake. I thought you were on the stroll."

The girl shrugged helplessly. "I can't seem to think, is all."

"I know a place," said Alec. "It's warm and dry. I'm not going to bother you."

She took a step toward him. "You smell good," she said weirdly.

"Okay,"said Alec.

She seemed to give Alec the once over. He was a nice-looking guy, and so obviously harmless.

"I guess I could use the company," she said. "But I'm warning you, I have a black belt."

"Sweetheart," said Alec, propelling her with a gentle hand on the small of her back, "from the moment I saw you, I knew you were a killer."


	3. Big Bang Theory

3. Big Bang Theory

"I was thinking about the connection," Logan was saying. "How you get from Manticore, to White, to his cult, to the government, and then back to Manticore."

"Uh-huh," said Max. She was curled up on the sofa. She looked like she wasn't paying attention, but Logan knew she was.

"Okay," said Logan. "What purpose does it serve, for Ames White to expose transgenics to the media? Why would he fan the flames of public fear and outrage?"

"It was his job to wrap Manticore up quietly," said Max.

"Exactly," said Logan. "Or else why hunt you all down, and kill you? That was so there wouldn't be any lose ends."

"Right," said Max. "Plus the parallel mandate of his nutty, ancient breeding cult to be the only super soldiers in town." 

"So, why the fireworks?"

"They make a big bang," said Max.

"Right," said Logan. "Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain."

She didn't get the reference, but she got his meaning. "A distraction," she said. "But why?"

"What do you think?" said Logan.

"Okay," said Max. "I think you think that they were in danger, White and his merry band of cultists. They had to do something drastic. A little slight of hand, like a magic show. Maybe someone was getting too close."

"Threatening to expose them," said Logan.

Max was excited. "Someone who's done our work for us," she said. "Someone who knows the whole rotten story of Sandeman, father of Manticore, and his ties to White's breeding cult."

"And their ties to the government," said Logan. "Yep. That's what I was thinking. And I was right."


	4. The Rock Star

4. The Rock Star

The next morning, Max looked for Alec at Jam Pony. She found him leaning against his locker, wearing dark glasses. "What's with the shades?" asked Max. "Never mind. I need you to cover for me. Normal doesn't have to know."

"Aw, Max," Alec groaned. "Can't Cindy do it? I feel like hell."

"Why? What did you do last night?"

"I picked up a foxy chick. We went back to my place and made sweet love all night long," he said.

"Ew," said Max. "Too much information."

"You shouldn't have asked," he said. "Anyhow, I have a headache. All that pillow talk."

Max looked over her shoulder. She took his arm and pulled him away from anyone who could overhear them. "What's going on, Alec? I don't believe you're sick. I didn't believe it yesterday, and I still don't buy it today."

He shook her off. "Look," he said. "It must happen, sometimes. I was just feeling low yesterday. But I really am sick, now."

"Even at half capacity you've still got it going on over everybody else. And I really need your help today."

He sighed. "At least tell me what's up. A romantic rendevous with Logan? You guys going to sit really close and not touch each other?"

"Yeah, that's it. You're a real bastard, you know?"

"Uh-huh," he said. "I know. So, what's up?"

"Logan has a big time lead on White and the breeding cult. A doctoral student at the university is studying weirdo religions, and apparently she's put together a pile of paper on White's cult."

"What does he need you for?" said Alec. "Can't Logan take a meeting without your help?"

"This is important, Alec," Max said, with what was for her, considerable patience. "Think about it. We finally get the whole story. From a third party. An educated, credible third party. We put that information out there, and maybe we neutralize White."

Alec nodded. "I like the sound of that. Logan always comes through, doesn't he? He must be leaking with joy, to give you this little present."

"Whatever," said Max.

"Why don't you stay at work, and I'll meet with the student," proposed Alec.

"No," said Max.

"Is she one of those bookish young ladies who've studied hard all their lives and never had a boyfriend?"

"I don't know," said Max, exasperated. "Where do you get this stuff?"

"Normal has educational magazines behind the counter. Does she wear one of those short kilts? I'll go with you."

"Not necessary! Just cover my runs!"

In the background, Normal said "Bip, bip, bip!" Max cringed. 

"I want you to agree to do something for me," Alec said.

"What?" sighed Max.

It was Alec's turn to take her arm, and they moved even farther down the line of lockers. He whispered, "I need your help with a caper. Tonight." He held up his hand. "Major bad guy, so you don't need to get all moral on me. Pre-Pulse artifact. It's a two-man job. We get the loot, we split, no one gets hurt. We divvy it up, fifty-fifty."

"Why is it a two-man job?" she said. "They never go well. Not for us."

"We come in through the skylight, taking out the second floor alarm as we go. The alarm on the ground floor is one of those new jobs. You can't just defeat it once. You have to do a running bypass, keep changing the leads. A regular person couldn't do it fast enough, but you could swing it, no sweat. I'm told it makes a different sound when it's looking to complete the circuit. High pitched, but in your range." 

Over Max's shoulder, he saw Original Cindy with an armload of packages. An ordinary girl, as fresh as a daisy, just getting started on another work day. He threw her a cheery wave, and drew closer to Max. OC shot them a knowing look, and headed out. "I'll open the case and lift our artifact," he continued. "You keep the alarm, which is in another room, busy. Then we hightail it out of there."

Max pondered the setup. Alarms were usually no problem; in fact, she found them amusing. She could use the cash, but she and Alec had a woeful rate of success in the cat burglar department. "Do I need to do this to get you to cover me today?" she asked.

He only paused for a microsecond. "No. No! Max, either way I'll take your packages."

"All right," she said. "I hope I'm not making a big mistake."

"Never," he said. "It's going to be great. The dream team, together again." He laughed.

"What's the artifact?"

"Can you believe it," said Alec. "It's shoes. Really expensive shoes."

"Weird," said Max. "Who cares about shoes? What shoes?"

"Ah, I wasn't paying attention," said Alec. "Ladies shoes. They're red. That's how we'll know."

"Don't screw up," she said. "I've gotta boost."

Max sneaked by Normal. Normal turned around. Like a lovesick teenager, he shrieked: "Rock star! Where's my rock star?"

Alec laughed again, entering Normal's line of sight. It had only been by accident that he had answered correctly about covering for Max. His other option had been to say he wouldn't do it unless she did the job with him. Close call.


	5. Snips and Snails

5. Snips and Snails

Max made a quick pit stop, to leave groceries for Joshua. If she forgot, he didn't eat. Or worse, he'd forage, and that was much too dangerous. Joshua was big and scary-looking. He had been the first of Manticore's experiments with recombinant DNA. Unfortunately, a dose of canine genetic material had given him a markedly dog like face. Manticore had perfected their technique by the time they got around to the X-5 series. Max had a measure of feline DNA, but she looked like a human girl.

Joshua had to stay indoors and out of sight, all the time. Nobody wanted to capture Joshua. They wanted to erase him. They thought he was some sort of freakish mistake. White, or even the cops, would shoot to kill.

Confinement was hard on Joshua, although he enjoyed relative freedom when compared to his former existence at Manticore. At least, holed up in Sandeman's old house, he had a place of his own, his books and paints. He had friends who looked out for him, even if they didn't see him as often as they should. She thought guiltily of all the times she'd sat on her ass on Logan's couch, watching the minutes melt away. She should have been spending that time keeping Joshua company. She wished desperately, as she always did, that there was an alternative. She knew time was long for Joshua. It was a cruel joke that a man like Joshua had to exist in the margins, blending into the twilight, while a sociopath like Alec could pull up his collar and enjoy the many entertainments offered by the police state they all knew and loved as Seattle.

Max put two big paper sacs on the kitchen table. "Hey, Big Fella," she said, seeing Joshua at his easel. "What'cha workin' on?"

"Hey, Little Fella," replied Joshua. He dragged a fan-tail brush through a smeary spot of vermillion. "No name yet."

Max squinted at the painting. While she loved the fact that Joshua painted, she never really got the paintings. "Is it something?" she asked. "A thing? Or a person, I mean?"

"Max," said Joshua. He turned and kissed the top of her head. "Come back later, okay? Joshua is at work."

"Very busy," said Max. "I'm sorry, I can see that." He had given her permission to leave, practically shoved her out the door, and it wasn't like she didn't have places to be. But she couldn't quite get her feet moving. She felt sad, sad all over. 

One day, after they were all dead and gone, someone was going to tear down this house and find Joshua's paintings. They would have a big show in a fancy gallery. Rich people would wander around with cheese and white wine, wondering who Joshua had been. Maybe they would make up stories about him, what he was like, the reclusive artistic genius. They would wish they could have met him. Those people would never know, though. They would never know that if they had bumped into the real Joshua in the street, they would have run away screaming.

  
  



	6. The Decline and Fall

6. The Decline and Fall

The poorly tended campus was strewn with garbage, and decorated with graffiti. The ragged remnants of leaflets were visible on many surfaces. Max parked on the sidewalk near a dry fountain, and started to walk. Someone grabbed her from behind. She almost smashed his windpipe, but realized at the last second it was Logan, ambulatory in the exoskeleton he had inherited from Phil, the vigilante. Phil had swiped it from the Department of Defense. Her heart did an ugly flip-flop, then she saw that he was wearing gloves.

"Logan, you scared me!" she said. "I nearly killed you." She meant that literally.

"Thank you for restraining yourself," he said gravely. "C'mere, let's get out of sight."

He led her behind a burnt out structure that had once served as a bus shelter.

"What's the sitch?" she asked.

"I don't know yet," he said. "There are police everywhere. I think you're going to have to hit the wind."

"I'm getting a bad feeling about this," said Max. She looked around the corner of the shelter. "Is that where we were headed?" She pointed to a squat grey building that had for the most part been roped off with crime-scene tape.

"Yeah," said Logan, clearly disgusted. "I'm pretty sure they were ahead of us again, Max. I don't think it's going to be pretty." There were knots of people, mostly young women, some being interviewed by detectives. Many were sobbing openly.

"Jesus," said Max. She was angry. There was nothing to do but be angry. Someone was probably dead, and they both knew it was the student they were supposed to be meeting.

"Look," she said, "I'll hop in there and hunt around a bit. Maybe they haven't had time to find all her research."

"No," said Logan. "It's too dangerous. I'm putting my foot down."

Max lifted an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?" she said.

"Oh, Max. White could still be in there. I can pass as a professor, or even a reporter. But everyone knows your face, now. Do the right thing, and leave the poking around to me."

She sighed, catching herself from leaning in to kiss him. She was shocked at how easily she forgot. "Okay," she agreed, more to remove herself from Logan's immediate vicinity than out of deference to any danger presented by White.

"We can hook up later, at my place," said Logan.

"Okay," said Max, again. She headed off, then stopped. "Oh! I have to help Alec with a thing tonight."

"What thing?" said Logan, turning back to her.

"Nothing," she said. "Nothing important." She was being evasive, and he looked hurt.

"Fine," he said tersely.

"Look, at the very least I'll talk to you later," she said. "Okay?"

"Fine," he repeated.

  
  
  
  


Logan joined the crowd of students. A chubby redhead was sitting on the edge of an empty concrete planter. I was just talking to her!" the girl sobbed, burying her face in her hands. Logan sat beside her.

"You mean Eva?" he asked. "Eva Vadas?"

"Yes," the redhead moaned. "Oh, this is so terrible. I can't believe anyone would do such a thing."

"What happened?" he asked.

"What are you," said a tall, skinny boy, "some kind of ghoul?"

"I'm sorry," said Logan. "I knew Eva, too." It was a lie, but not much of one. He would have known her, if he'd had the chance. She had sounded bright and cheerful on the phone. As they'd talked, he had imagined what she looked like, like any guy would.

"I'm sorry, man," said the kid. "But we're really shook up here. Eva was our T.A."

"Just tell me," said Logan, looking up at the boy.

"She's dead," said the kid, with heartbreaking sadness. "Some sicko raped her, and beat her to death." He shivered, looking very young. The redheaded girl was clearly fixing to cry some more. Logan had a hankie in his pocket, for cleaning his glasses. He fished it out and gave it to her. "I'm sorry," he said, sick at heart. "You have no idea how sorry I am."

  
  
  
  


Logan knew he had to move fast. He just didn't know which direction to go. The cops would have Eva's office pretty well sewn up by now. If White was on site, it would be in his official capacity and he would have access to everything.

I'm so stupid, thought Logan. I got her killed. When she made plans to share information with someone who said he knew Eyes Only, the notorious dissident, they had to act.

Logan's head swam with a circuit-frying surge of anger. White and his insane snake people cavalierly eliminated anyone they perceived as a threat to their mysterious agenda. Whoever they were, whatever they were, they had to be stopped. White made a lot of noise about the intrinsic reprehensibility of transgenics, but it was he who was the greater insult to the natural order.

Max had described in great detail the bizarre, pseudo religious ritual she'd witnessed. What manner of man would knowingly allow his own son to be exposed to a deadly toxin, for the sake of some absurd test? What great evil was abroad in the world? 

Logan wasn't sure he was strong enough to stand between society and White's vast and deadly cult. He was just an ordinary man. But he recognized that he had no choice. He was one of those uncommon individuals who have in their nature a willingness to get involved. He was an activist, the only free voice left in Seattle. He had to take responsibility.

First things first. If Eva was really as smart as she seemed, she had to have a backup stash, somewhere safe, with copies of all her important research. But where? He crossed his arms, allowing himself to sink into deep concentration. He knew where he would hide papers. The library. Where better? It was always full of people and there were plenty of hidey-holes. Naw, he thought, too easy. Or was it? It didn't hurt to check.

  
  
  
  


Logan stood in a cavernous room. Tables were full, heads bent over texts and writing pads. There was the soft murmur of pages being turned. He found it comforting. Terrorists had knocked out the American economy with an electromagnetic pulse, and the frightened American people had traded in their freedom for reactionary militarism, but kids were still cramming for their exams. 

Where would Eva have hidden a copy of her notes, he wondered? Perhaps under "C," for cults, he thought with a tight smile. Or maybe filed with her other research. Wouldn't that be too obvious? What about under the name of her adviser? 

No, he thought, I wouldn't. Too close a link, too easy to figure out. 

For a moment, he drifted. His mind came down hard on something as sharp and unpleasant as a sliver of glass in an ice cream cone, and clearly not germane to the task at hand. 

Max was with Alec. 

He was irritated. Jealous even. Max was happy to talk at length about what an ass Alec was, but she had to rush off to see him. After the destruction of Manticore, and much to Logan's dismay, Alec had reappeared, and insinuated himself into Max's life. He'd taken a job at Jam Pony, and become friendly with her pals. In the light of recent history, Logan found Alec's behavior highly suspect.

There was nothing preventing Alec from touching her, either accidentally, or on purpose. Alec wouldn't drop dead if he brushed up against her, or wiped her tears. He could kiss her at the nape of her neck, sweeping aside her hair to expose the bar code she had to conceal.

Logan felt the ugly taste of acid, and tried to pull himself together. He trusted Max. She could never be interested in a callow, self-serving prick like Alec. Forget that Alec could touch her. He wouldn't. She would never let him. 

But what were they doing tonight? Why wouldn't she say? He couldn't help but be suspicious.

Then he had it, the answer to the problem that had brought him here in the first place. Thrusting his other worries aside, he walked through the stacks. He looked for the section he wanted. He walked down the isle, breathing through his mouth. Hurry, he thought. White could bust in here any minute. He ran his finger down the row of dusty hardcover books. He pulled out a slim folder. He turned it around. This it what it said on the cover. It said: "Fe'nos tol."

  
  



	7. The Caper

7. The Caper

Max and Alec were dressed in cat burglar chic, complete with harnesses. They were flat on their bellies, noses pressed against the skylight. Stupidly, the skylight wasn't wired, which Alec considered tantamount to an engraved invitation. "Once we're in, move quick," he said. "Don't stop to smell the roses."

"Take care of your end. And don't mess up, because I will kick your ass," Max replied. "I had a rotten day."

"It was a no go with the grad student?" he asked.

"We're about to commit a robbery here," Max said. "We'll visit later."

"Sheesh," said Alec. "Just asking. Trying to take an interest. I understood that was the polite thing to do."

"Do you care?" asked Max.

"Not really." He checked Max's harness for a second time. Alec always double-checked his gear. Some habits die hard. 

"How did you hear about this gig?" she asked suddenly.

"Why?" said Alec. "What difference does it make?"

"I just don't want any more surprises," said Max grimly.

"I heard about it through my fence," said Alec. Wait, that wasn't right. Hadn't he brought the job in and proposed it himself? There was a piece missing. He couldn't put his finger on it. What the hell, what Max didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

A gentle breeze rearranged her hair, and in the light of the faraway moon, Alec found himself quite taken with her, those black eyes, the line of her cheek, the curve of her breast in the tight jumpsuit. He wondered what it would be like to plunge his hands into all that hair, to lie down in the dark, enveloped in her scent. He was a displaced person, stateless. Would she feel like home? Manticore had paired them off. Was that the way things were supposed to be? With a wrench, he shook off the thought.

Max gave him a long, searching look. "Are you one hundred percent, or do we bail right now?"

"I'm golden," he said. "Time to fly."

"All right," she said. "Since we happen to be in the neighborhood."

He said: "It's time to cut the chatter." No one was home, but they'd maintain silence as a matter of course. What was the point of knowing cool hand signals if you didn't get to use them?

"She's dead." said Max. "Our student."

Alec winced. "Sorry. That sucks."

"It's our fault," said Max.

"Do you know that for sure?" he asked.

"No," said Max. "But it always is."

  
  
  
  


They rappelled in silence. The main hall was grand, three stories tall. There was a huge circular staircase. They arrived at the mezzanine, and Max produced a double-sided dagger. Alec started to swing back and forth. When he got up the momentum, he simply booted Max in the ass. Careful of the blade, she folded her arms across her chest, and made a tricksy somersault that ended with her flying lightly over the banister. She deftly cut her rope, allowing herself to fall. She landed on her feet, in a crouch. She made a hand signal for "okay." Then she rubbed her ass, and made the hand signal for "fuck you." 

Alec laughed, silently. He pointed to his wrist. Tick-tock. Max had touched the floor. They were committed.

  
  
  
  


Max ran down the hall to the bedroom, and found the alarm. She got out her tiny tool kit and performed some radical surgery. She had seen this model before; it was cute. She put it on a loop that fooled it into thinking it was functional. They could poke around forever and it would never know. 

She jogged back to the stairwell, and gave Alec the thumbs-up. Without breaking stride she vaulted the banister. He caught her, and they swung crazily. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, so he could have his hands free. She looked down, watching the black and white floor approach, as he lowered them the rest of the way. She liked the floor. It was like a great big checkerboard. 

In a moment they were down. There was a strange little second where Alec actually seemed to be smelling her hair. They separated awkwardly, exchanging an uneasy glance. He made a gesture: Go! She raced down the hall, her hair whipping behind. She couldn't see, so Alec indulged himself in one of the perks of having a genetically engineered partner in crime. He checked out her ass. Nice.

  
  
  
  


She found the dark library. The shelves were stocked with heavy volumes that looked like they had been purchased by the meter. With her enhanced night vision, she could have read the titles. There were antique tribal masks, and even animal heads on the wall. Big game. Sick. The alarm was right where it was supposed to be. She cracked open the plastic case and set to work on the bypass, nimble fingers flying. She only had a couple of seconds, and then she had to be in the rhythm, or the alarm would trigger, silently. They'd have to forget the prize, and head for the hills. Alec had laid out the specs for her, and he'd been right, she could hear the tiny electronic sound. She wouldn't have been able to describe it, it was so small. 

She was exhilarated. It was fun to have somebody to play with, someone who could keep up. Someone who was cheerfully, happily, amoral. She found that she didn't care whose house this was, what they did, and to whom. This was her hobby. Forget that soul-searching crap. If only there was more good stuff to steal in Seattle.

  
  


Alec stood in the front hall, still like a statue. Nice place he thought. You'd have to be loaded just to pay for the upkeep. He looked around, admiring the artwork, not knowing if it was good or not. To tell the truth, he liked Joshua's stuff better. On an ornate little table, he noticed a black and white photograph of a woman, next to a huge vase of cut flowers. He looked away, then looked back sharply. It was the girl from the other night. 

This is not good, he thought. How did that happen? He had set this job up through his fence, who had a Japanese collector on the line for the shoes. 

He heard a noise and his heart stopped. What the fuck! There wasn't supposed to be anyone home! He looked up. Plodding along, with his hand on the banister, was a fat guy in a blue silk dressing gown. 

There was a guy in the house, and the alarm was armed. Inwardly, Alec groaned. Had the fat guy tripped it already? The security company could be rolling even now. How much time did they have? From the other room he heard a noise, as sudden and brief as a twig snapping in the forest.

  
  
  
  


Max smiled, pleased with herself. Piece of cake. She snapped her fingers, giving Alec the go ahead.

  
  
  
  


Alec was in agony. He didn't know whether to cut and run or bluster through. He could take out the fat guy, no question. But he didn't want to, not if he didn't have to. Every time you pull a job, there's a chance you'll take a fall. You have to decide, before you go in, how far you're willing to fall. He had promised Max no rough stuff, and he wanted to keep that promise.

He had to wait for the guy to see him, which was inevitable at this point. How could he not have heard him coming? Everything would be decided in the first two seconds. It all depended on how the fat guy reacted. Alec waited in a semi-crouch, silent, loose. Ready for anything. 

Then the fat guy looked right at him. He looked right at Alec, and then looked away. He was perspiring freely, and his eyes were glazed. Alec was somewhat taken aback. Was that it?

The fat guy lumbered away, down the hall. Alec shrugged. Max had given him the high sign, time to boogie. He saw the display case on a pedestal. The red shoes were lit from underneath. He traipsed over, playing out the rope behind him. He didn't want to unhook now. They were going to have to make a speedy getaway. He was sure of it. He jimmied the lock. He put one hand on either side of the glass. With a practiced motion, he pulled off the cover. There was a whooshing sound.

  
  
  
  


Back in the library, Max heard a crash, and then a heavy thud. 

"That's just great," she said aloud. She knew the sound of a body hitting the floor. She'd heard it before.

  
  
  
  



	8. Dinner and a Movie

8. Dinner and a Movie

Logan tossed his keys on the mail table, and withdrew Eva's notes from under his sweater. The corners were a little bent, but the folder was otherwise fine. He had walked out of the library fully expecting White to nab him, his heart pounding against the brown cardboard file. Remarkably, he made it off the campus unmolested. Now he was home, and secure.

He took off his jacket and hung it up, thinking he should get started on the file right away. He was cautiously optimistic. A woman had sacrificed her life for these documents, but maybe they contained answers to the big questions. They could mean freedom for a lot of people. The phone rang, and he grabbed it, hoping it was Max.

There was an unfamiliar voice. "This is Jason."

Logan tensed. He didn't know anybody named Jason. The phrase "this is Jason," was an S1W code phrase meaning: "big trouble, help urgently required."

"Go ahead, Jason," he replied, snatching up a pen.

"My mother is in town," said the voice. "I can't meet you for a movie, tonight."

"I see," said Logan, writing down the word 'mother,' and underlining the first four letters. 'Moth' was Asha's code name. He also wrote down 'town,' which indicated a warehouse the S1W sometimes used as a staging ground, and 'meet,' which was plain English. He made a note of 'vie,' from 'movie,' and 'tonight.'

The message was clear enough. Asha had a meeting this evening that was going down sideways, and her life was in danger. She needed some help. He was willing to go, but he still wasn't sure why he was the one summoned.

"Maybe I should send your mother some flowers," he said.

"No," said the voice, sounding young and shaky. "But everybody likes popcorn." He hung up.

Popcorn. Logan got up quickly, and went to the kitchen. At the counter, he pressed a discreet button. With a grunt, he pulled out the entire sink. The drain pipe was flexible, and stayed attached. 

"Popcorn," meant firearms, so he'd better have one of his own. He reached into the hidden compartment. He chose one of the guns he allowed the S1W to store in his home, feeling as he always did, sad to take a weapon to hand. Logan hated guns, but in the present political climate, he couldn't afford to be squeamish while the soldiers, cops, and gangsters were armed to the teeth. He knew in his heart, though, that he paid a heavy moral price. He went back to his desk, tore off the page he had been writing on, as well as the next one. He was going to have to dispose of them. He was almost out the door, when he remembered Eva's notes. 

"Dammit!" he said. He gathered them up, returned to the kitchen, and put them in a large Ziploc-style bag that he had been carefully recycling for about three years. He took out a big packet of frozen peas, tore them open, and poured them in the bag until they completely covered the book. Logan wasn't partial to peas; like everybody else, he lined up at the market and bought whatever was on offer. He didn't mind wasting good food in this manner. He mainly fed the peas to Max, who didn't seem to care what she ate. He zipped the bag, and hid the whole shebang at the back of the freezer. Better than nothing. 

  
  
  
  


A few hours later, Logan drove Asha to her apartment. "Thanks for your help," she said, as she got out of the car. She had a cut on her lip, and a bruise across one cheek.

"Anytime," Logan replied.

  
  
  
  
  
  



	9. Snooze Button

9. Snooze Button

Logan sighed and rubbed his eyes. He shuffled through the damp and green-tinged papers. There was nothing substantive in Eva's secret file. Everything was written in a vague shorthand that had doubtless made perfect sense to Eva Vadas. He, on the other hand, was getting bogged down. She hadn't intended to get killed, obviously, but she knew that she was sitting on a powder keg. She had been smart enough to leave a trail, but not organized enough to make sure the trail made sense. He hated to think ill of the recently murdered, but no wonder she'd been A.B.D.

There were careful, hand-copied diagrams, featuring odd and ominous symbols. There were pages of data, but Logan was no scientist. In any event, there didn't seem to be a point of reference to decrypt any of it. 

Then there were her handwritten notes. What did "Pacific/Stronghold" mean? Or "Smalton-Sandeman-Sandoval?" Logan wasn't making any headway, and the disappointment was rich and painful on top of the day's gory events. He went into the kitchen, to make himself some coffee. At the counter, he bowed his head, giving in to his fatigue. The adventure with Asha had used up a considerable amount of his energy. 

He had sneaked into the warehouse, and found her being held at knife point by an incoherent, sweaty thug. Crime lords flourished under the current regime. Asha had set up a meeting with a low level foot soldier to get info on one of Seattle's underworld figures. Logan hadn't pressed for details. It was none of his business.

Asha's backup had lost his nerve, and taken off. Logan was not by nature a violent man, but when he found that kid, he was going to split him in two. At least he'd called Logan for help, or who knows what god awful thing might have happened. Logan's arrival had interrupted the nasty vibe of pending sexual violence. Luckily he was the only one who actually had a gun. This time. 

He took off his glasses. He felt worn out and weak. A year ago, his spinal cord had been blown out in a fire fight. He was technically a paraplegic. Without the exoskeleton, he was useless. He suddenly wanted to see Max. Where the hell was she? What was she up to? What was she doing with Alec? Alec, who was strong and handsome, genetically enhanced and physically her equal?

  
  
  
  


"Wake up, dummy!" Max slapped him again. 

The rent-a-cops were on the way and they had to get the hell out. She could only assume that the pedestal had been booby-trapped with gas. Alec was out cold, and a faint, sour smell hung in the air. Glass was everywhere.

Max grabbed a vase, pulled out the colorful flowers, and tossed them aside. She dashed fetid water in Alec's face. "Alec! Wake up!" 

She felt like kicking him, so she did. He stirred, eyelids fluttering. "Alec!" she cried, pulling on him. "We have to get out of here!"

He groaned and propped himself up on his elbows. "I'm all right," he said fuzzily. "What happened?"

"Never mind. On your feet! Now!" She stalked to the display, glass crunching underfoot. She grabbed a shoe in either hand. They were small and sparkly. There was a descriptive card, which she glanced at before putting it in her pocket.

Alec got to his feet, woozy.

She tucked a shoe in either of his pockets. "We're leaving. Are you able?"

"Yeah," he grunted.

"Then back the way we came," she said. She stepped into his arms.

  
  
  
  


Two and a half minutes later, the private security firm of Rourke and Rabbit Arms and Ammunition broke down the door of one Francis Sullivan, wealthy contractor, collector and suspected Irish mobster. The R and R Security Force found Mr. Sullivan unconscious on the second floor, obviously the victim of foul play. Some time after that, Mrs. Sullivan was discovered to be missing, causing tremendous alarm. When the police arrived a day later, they concluded that the house had been expertly tossed. The insurance report would eventually include a long list of stolen and very valuable items.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	10. Dark Angel

10. Dark Angel

Logan didn't care what Max was up to. He wanted her now. He had finally made a big deductive leap, and they needed to talk. He couldn't sit on his hands while she messed around with Alec. What if another life was at stake? The murder of Eva Vadas weighed heavily on his conscience; he didn't want more blood on his hands.

He leaned back in his wheelchair and dialed his cell. He was practically shaking with exhaustion. He could only wear the exoskeleton for so long, the stress made all his muscles quiver. Max picked up, and for a moment all he could hear was wind and static.

"Yeah," she shouted.

"Max," he said. "Come on over. It's important."

"Wait a minute!" she screamed. "Sit up properly and help me balance, or we're gonna tip over!"

"What?" said Logan. "Where are you?"

  
  
  
  


"Hold on!" Max said, either to her passenger, or into the phone. She took one hand off the handlebars and reached behind to steady Alec. He was a mess, sloppy drowsy and practically dead weight. They had gotten off the roof with difficulty, and made it back to her motorcycle. If she could have thrown him across the back like a sack of meal, she would have, but he was too big. He had to help her or they weren't going to make it. The security force was in hot pursuit.

She jabbed him with her elbow, and he responded by tightening his grip on her waist.

  
  
  
  


"Max," said Logan peevishly, "where are you? What have you done?"

Her voice came over the line, thin and tight, "Alec and I were ripping off some movie shoes from a rich wise guy. The operation went south and Alec got a dose of knockout gas. He's out of it."

Logan was confused, "Movie shoes?"

"That's not important," shrieked Max. "We have to lose these security guys!"

"Max," said Logan. "Eva Vadas was murdered. I have some of her research, and a lead." 

"Okay," said Max.

"We don't have time for you and Alec to be screwing around."

"I know," said Max.

"That was a stupid stunt to pull," said Logan.

"I know," grunted Max. There was the sound of squealing tires.

"All of Alec's plans blow up in his face," said Logan.

"I know!" screamed Max.

Logan sighed. "Where are you?" He wheeled himself to the computer. "I'll see if I can find you an escape route."

  
  
  
  


"Huh," said Logan, looking at the red shoes. "Who'd have thought?"

"I know," said Max, sweeping her long hair back into a loose ponytail. "Aren't they stupid?"

"Do you know what they are?" he asked her.

"No," she admitted. She didn't really care. They'd better be worth something though, or she was going to make Alec very sorry. Alec was, at present, in dreamland. The moment they had pulled up in front of Logan's building, he'd tumbled off her bike. She'd had to grab him under the arms and drag him upstairs. Between the two of them, she and Logan had stuffed him in the shower, fully dressed, in the hope of halting any residual chemical effect. Now he was stripped to his skivvies, and bundled up on Logan's couch, sawing logs. 

"I hate to ask," said Max, "but could you hang onto the merchandise until Alec gets on his feet? We could hide them somewhere."

Logan laughed. "Max, the S1W uses this place as a drop. If I'm rousted, it's not going to be for stolen shoes."

"Oh, right," said Max, momentarily anxious. She didn't like the thought of Logan getting pinched for contraband ordnance. Asha's contraband. Asha was Logan's gal pal in the struggle. She was blonde and cute, and not infected with a retro virus targeted to Logan's DNA. Max hated her guts. "Maybe Asha should find another sucker to warehouse her little toys," she said. She didn't believe in guns, and had sworn never to use one again.

"Max," said Logan. That was all. He was committed to the resistance. 

She dropped it. "So, what did you do tonight?" she asked brightly, to change the subject.

"Nothing special," said Logan. "Research."

Max felt guilty. Logan always thought about the big picture. Here he was, trying to help her, and she had been playing cat burglar. 

"I'm sorry about tonight, Logan," she said. "I didn't think we'd get caught."

"What's done is done," he sighed. "You're okay, thank God. I just don't want anything to happen to you, Max. You know how I feel."

There was an awkward silence. A regular girl would have hugged her boyfriend about then, but Max didn't have that option. Logan looked away, and considered Alec, who was sleeping peacefully. "Anyway," he said. "Alec will sleep it off, and be back to his charming self in no time."

"It was just some kind of gas," said Max. "It had pretty much dissipated by the time I got there. It didn't affect me at all."

"Well, nobody's going to booby-trap their house with something virulent," said Logan, "too many ways for it to go wrong."

Max dropped into an armchair. She was quiet for a minute. That minute grew into another minute. When she finally spoke, she said: "We got that girl murdered, Logan."

"I know that," said Logan. "I've been thinking about her all day."

"We were stupid," said Max. "We have to be more careful. They don't care who they hurt."

"They're the bad guys," he said starkly. "But you're right. You're right about everything. If it's any consolation, I talked to Matt Sung. She wasn't raped. There was no evidence of sexual trauma."

"I figured," said Max. "And it doesn't make any difference."

"No," Logan agreed. 

  
  
  
  


Max and Logan went into the kitchen. Max put on her gloves and took a moment to root around in the fridge. She was famished. "Any veggies?" she asked.

"I'm fresh out," he said.

She made herself a sandwich. "How goes the research?" she said finally, holding a hand over her mouth because she was eating.

"I have a theory," said Logan, making Max smile.

He took a long sip of coffee. "I think Eva mailed a package to someone. Her notes are cannibalized. I think she contacted a government type, and talked to him before she talked to me."

"Where do you get that?" asked Max.

"See this name here?" Logan pointed at a sheet of paper. Max moved closer, being super careful not to touch him. "I'm guessing now, but I think that's Mike Smalton, who works for Harlan Keystone."

"Oh," said Max.

"Senator Harlan Keystone," laughed Logan.

"Oh!" said Max.

"Yeah," said Logan. "Smalton is his aide. He's local. Maybe she knew him. They were at school together. I checked."

"So, maybe this guy is the missing piece of the puzzle," said Max, considering. "Where's he located?"

"Well, there's his office, obviously. If that's where it is, we're out of luck. But I'm betting if she sent him anything, it was to his local residence. She would have wanted to keep it quiet."

"And you just happen to have his address," said Max.

"That I do," said Logan.

"You're taking a lot on faith here," said Max. "That's a pretty skimpy trail, a lot of guess work."

"So you don't want to pursue it?" said Logan.

"Oh, I want to pursue it," said Max. "What else do I have to do with my time?"

"I was right the last time," said Logan. "I mean, I found Eva."

"Well, I guess we know our next stop," said Max. "I like that."

"Yeah," said Logan.

The detritus from Max's makeshift meal was now a bio-hazard, and she wrapped it all up to take with her. They were observing CDC blood and body fluid protocols. She was Logan's own personal Typhoid Mary, his angel of death. One slip up, and he'd be counting out Charon's change. The constant stress was rendered just this side of intolerable by unyielding vigilance.

They went back to the living room. Alec was still asleep, and the red shoes were still sparkly.

"Look at those things," said Max. "Whoever wore those, she was really tiny."

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	11. The Full Monty

11. The Full Monty

Alec snapped awake and was on his feet, reaching for his weapon. He was standing before he realized he didn't know what was going on, or where he was. He was unarmed, and undressed.

"Hey," Logan said cautiously, wheeling himself back a bit.

Alec was startled. The older man had been sitting so quietly, Alec hadn't seen him. He looked around. It figured. Logan was usually the last person he wanted to see. He seemed to be missing some time. His pulse quickened. There was a sensation of urgency; then it passed. He felt strangely vulnerable.

"I don't know what you got dosed with," said Logan. "Max had a hell of a time getting you back here."

"Max?" said Alec. "Where is she?" He didn't want to talk to Logan about Max. Mysteriously, he could smell her, as if she had been evoked at the mention of her name. He wished he could see her. He wanted to talk to her.

Logan regarded him carefully. "Work, where else? Then a mission tonight. I wanted you to be able support her, but we couldn't roust you."

"You should have tried harder," said Alec irritably.

"Max was all for poking you with a sharp stick, but we decided to let you sleep it off," said Logan.

"And I'm naked because . . . "

"We threw you in the shower with your clothes on," said Logan, wheeling toward the bedroom. "You can have something of mine."

Logan had never expected to see Alec unwrapped. He felt a sharp stab of envy. This was Max's breeding partner, after all. Manticore had chased Max for years. She was a valuable resource. When she had finally been caught, her handlers weren't going to assign just anybody to service her. In the pale afternoon light, the young soldier was whole and strong and perfect. He gave Logan a headache.

Alec turned, and found the glare from the main window to be painful; it sent a sharp crack through his skull. He held up a hand to shield his eyes. He was confused, so he seized upon the concept that made sense. "What mission?" he asked. "Did you send Max into danger?"

"What's with you?" said Logan hotly. "You were the one with the bright idea to rip off Frankie Sullivan's mansion." 

"She's a big girl," said Alec. "She made up her own mind." His balance was off, so he shifted his feet. "Breaking into Frankie's was just a minor excursion."

"That was clear and present danger," said Logan, sarcastically emphasizing the words.

"Oh, right," said Alec, "only you get to use the government issue soldier doll."

"Max can't afford to take any chances right now!" said Logan, provoked.

Alec said, "You could get her killed, Logan. All because she feels guilty about you being in that chair!"

"She told you that?" said Logan, dismayed.

"She didn't have to!" Alec was on his toes, ready to pounce. His motor was revving. He felt caged in, uneasy. An image chased through his mind, two cannons flanking a palm tree. The floor seemed to be rolling slightly, like the deck of a ship. 

Alec had traveled by sea twice in his life, on Manticore away missions. He flashed on his first grim view of the coast of Haiti, a beleaguered nation clinging desperately to life with desiccated, claw like fingers. He smelled salt sea air and diesel fuel. He looked down and saw that he was wearing a wetsuit. He had a long swim ahead of him.

Manticore had been contracted by an international consortium to ensure that pending democratic elections not take place. Alec didn't know why. He couldn't have cared less, although he did have fun watching decadent French films during his crash course in idiomatic linguistics. His assignment was to pose as a Christian relief worker, and take out the populist candidate with a poison trans dermal patch concealed in a handshake. He was looking forward to it.

Logan was further away from him now. It was like a jump cut. Alec had missed the last thing the other man had said. Logan was talking very softly, as though to an injured animal. He said, "I think you need to lie down again." It cost him to say that, he was getting anxious, and he wanted Alec to get the hell out.

"I'm good," said Alec. It seemed important that Logan, of all people, should know he was all right. And having said it, he was suddenly fine. "Where is Max? I'll catch up, keep her out of trouble."

"Alec," said Logan. "Max can handle it."

Alec stepped forward so fast he blurred, suddenly menacing. "I asked you where she was," he said. He drove his fist at Logan's head.

  
  
  
  


To be continued. . .


	12. Exsqueeze Me

12. Exsqueeze Me

"That is a bold fashion choice, even for you," Normal told Sketchy. He rubbed his ear. While he felt his headset was inherently cool, it had a tendency to chafe.

"I think that shirt violates the Jam Pony dress-code," kidded Original Cindy. Normal was still in his good mood, and it was a rare treat not to have to boondoggle for his benefit. They were leaning on the counter, shooting the breeze. Cindy was all for transgenics in the workplace. They made her workday so much lighter.

She saw Alec, silhouetted in the doorway. He was wearing a tight T-shirt, and actually looked very fine. Cindy had precious little interest in men, but she supposed she could get her leg over that just once, to see what it was like. As an experiment. She wondered if he'd be surprised to know she'd be willing to give him a tumble. He certainly never bothered her, which she appreciated. So many men seemed to consider a girl's girl the ultimate challenge. She liked the fact that he never panted in her ear. In her experience, men were clingy, needy, and frequently embarrassing. It wasn't that Cindy didn't like men. She liked them fine. What she felt for women was deeper, more erotic and beautiful. That was her true nature.

"Don't think I wouldn't enforce a dress-code around here," Normal was saying, momentarily mesmerized by a vision of shiny Jam Pony uniforms.

Sketchy groaned, wishing OC would find something new to gripe about. He had the sensibilities of a teenager. His philosophy on fashion was simple: a lot of layers. At present he was wearing four shirts, not counting the Hawaiian that topped off his ensemble. He never, ever did laundry. At the end of the day, he hung his things on the back of a chair. Soon enough they aired out, and were no longer officially dirty.

"I know a lost cause when I see one," concluded Normal. "Where have you been?" he barked at Alec. "Can't run a circus without my star performer."

"I'll make it up to you, boss," said Alec thickly. "I've been under the weather." He surprised everyone by grabbing Original Cindy. She was small, and his hand went all the way around her arm. "I've come for Cindy," he said, and with that he dragged her away.

Normal was hideously disappointed. There went his favorite part of the day. With unusual sensitivity, he felt uneasy. Something was sure off about that situation. "You all right, Princess?" he called after Cindy, but she didn't answer.

Jeeze, Sketchy was thinking, the stuff he gets away with. He liked Alec. The guy was easy-going and fun. He didn't have a mean bone in his body. He gave no thought to the fact that Cindy might actually be in trouble. 

"Leggo!" said Cindy angrily. She tried to shake him off, but he was very strong. He had never touched her before, or so much as looked at her the wrong way. What was with the humiliating caveman drama? Nobody got to drag Original Cindy around. If this was the way things were gonna be, she was doing some serious rethinking. Immediately, Alec was just another guy, and a creep at that.

He squeezed her arm, and it hurt. He manhandled her outside, and she stopped struggling, aware of the way the other messengers were noticing them, seeing how their eyes slid away. Cindy felt a surge of helplessness, and that scared her more than anything else. 

Outside, Alec took her by the shoulders, and gave her a rough shake.

"Where's Max?" he said.

"Max?" OC repeated stupidly. Max was out on a run, but she wasn't about to tell him that, not the way he was acting. Max had said she was making a token appearance today; she couldn't afford to lose her job.

Alec shook her again, making her teeth rattle. "Don't screw around with me Cindy," he said. "You can make me go away. All you have to do is answer my question."

That sounded like creepy, soldier-boy logic to Cindy. She wasn't making him do anything.

He lowered his voice. "You don't want me to get angry."

The truth of the matter was he looked plenty angry already. He was hot and sweaty. She hadn't even known transgenics could sweat. 

Cindy didn't know what to do. All of a sudden she found herself in the ugly situation every woman stumbles into sooner or later. She knew she was in trouble. She just wasn't sure. Above all, irrationally, she felt she mustn't make a scene. Alec was super-strong, and she was a regular girl. He could do anything to her, and there wasn't much she could do about it. She felt betrayed.

Original Cindy was Max's roommate and best friend. They stood back to back against the world. From the beginning, she'd sympathized with the predicament of the transgenic escapees; she felt any sane person would. They hadn't asked to be born, and now they were being hunted and killed. For the first time, she felt an ugly thrill of doubt. They all had extraordinary abilities, and the capacity to be extremely dangerous. Had she thrown in her lot with the wrong team? Looking into Alec's hostile, shadowy eyes, she wasn't sure she had been right to trust them so quickly.

"Cindy," he said, still holding her hard enough to bruise, "I have to find Max, it's very important. The success of the mission depends on it." He was eerily calm, talking foolishness. He even smiled a little, which made her more frightened. How much further could this go? If she ever needed a rescue, it was now.


	13. Crazy

13. Crazy

Max whipped around the corner. While she resented having to waste a day working, she couldn't very well stage a break-in during the daylight. Approaching Jam Pony, she was nearly knocked out of her socks. Alec had Original Cindy up against the wall and was clearly giving her a hard time. She stood up on her pedals.

"Hey!" she yelled. "Get offa her!" 

She skidded to a stop and leapt off her bicycle, letting it crash to the ground. She didn't know what he thought he was doing, and she didn't care. Alec let go of Cindy, who stumbled to the side. Max struck him with a straight punch. Then she spun into a perfect roundhouse kick. She put everything she had into it, catching him squarely in the jaw. 

He didn't even try to block her. His eyes rolled up into his head, and for the second time in twenty-four hours, he was down for the count. Cindy was shaking, and Max took her friend into her arms. "What the hell was that about?" she said angrily.

A few furious tears escaped Cindy's thick eyelashes, and she wiped them away.

"He's fixated on you, boo." She sniffed.

They stepped over Alec, and walked along the bike racks. Max looked over her shoulder. She was a little surprised he's gone down so easily.

"Fixated?" said Max, at a loss.

"Kept askin' where you was," Cindy said. "He really scared me." She began to cry in earnest.

"Oh, hey," Max said. "Let's get you home."

"What about him?" said Cindy. "He was acting crazy."

"Crazy," Max repeated, with a sinking heart. "I'm sorry OC. I'm sorry for everything." She sighed, looking back at the other X5. "I don't know what's going on. For now, he can stay right where he is. In the dirt."

  
  


On the way home, Max changed her strategy. She couldn't leave OC alone tonight, not with Alec gunning for her. Cindy needed some muscle in front of her. Max couldn't raise Logan, which was probably just as well. She didn't want to put any more of her friends in danger. 

She made a beeline for Joshua's. She was sure Joshua could handle anything Alec might care to throw at him. Her priority had to be to make sure Cindy was safe. Then she could burgle Smalton's house with a clear conscience. 

She'd figure out Alec's deal as soon as she could, but she was afraid she already knew. He'd been acting off for some time now, complaining of headaches, and not feeling well. Maybe he was coming apart at the seams. There were other X-5s who'd self-destructed. That was what came from mad scientists messing around with living, breathing experiments. Last time, she hadn't been there to stop the tidal wave of destruction. 

She was the one who'd taken down Manticore. She'd set Alec loose on the world, and like it or not he was her responsibility. Her head was spinning. Everything always happened at once. 


	14. Here Be Dragons

14. Here Be Dragons

A dark band of cloth covered his eyes. He didn't need to see. He lovingly reassembled the antique Sako TRG-42. Being ambidextrous, he appreciated that the stock accommodated both left and right-hand shooters. With his genetic gifts, with this weapon in hand, he had a range in excess of a mile. Or he would have, in a few years, when his hands got bigger. He held the rifle forward for inspection, satisfied. The instructor slapped him, then slapped him again. What had he done wrong? He began to struggle. He was going to be recycled, cut up for spare parts! He felt tremendous sadness. 

The blindfold was removed and his eyes gradually focused. He saw Normal peering owlishly at him, holding a wet washcloth. He was in Normal's office. His boss seemed strangely subdued. Normal said something that he couldn't catch; it was like a movie with frames missing. His face shimmered, then he had an animal face, his true self revealed at last. He was Normal, but he was also a big yellow dog.

Alec sat up, alarmed. He had absolutely no idea what was going on.

  
  


Max stood on the roof of a tall apartment building, in a section of town that was known for being upscale, as it was more or less intact. She was wearing her cat suit and harness. The wind blew back her dark hair.

Smalton had a little apartment in the next building. She was aiming for his balcony. She got a running start, and leapt into the night. She flew.

  
  


"The place was picked clean," she told Logan later. Logan seemed to have redecorated his apartment. Everything was moved around, and there was a movie poster tacked to the wall by his bedroom. Max wondered why he would be spring cleaning now, then dismissed it as one of the human rituals she had missed out on, growing up in a secret military installation. Probably men redecorated all the time. Logan was certainly very homey.

"So you didn't find anything?" Logan asked, disappointed.

"Only this," she said. "It was in a frame in the kitchen, behind the real picture." 

She unrolled a medium sized map of Pacific County on the coffee table.

"How did you know to look for it?" asked Logan, considering the map. "I never would have thought to look in a picture frame."

"Oh," Max said disdainfully, "people hide stuff in picture frames all the time, Logan. They think they're being so original. Like you would never think to check because it's right in plain sight."

She was looking down at the map, so she didn't see Logan glance involuntarily toward the bedroom. "Like 'The Purloined Letter,' huh?" he said wryly.

Max said, "Uh-huh," but Logan knew she had no clue what he was talking about. There were some obvious gaps in Max's education.

"Look," she said. "I think it's indicating a facility of some sort. See where it says 'Stronghold?' Isn't that like a fort, or something?"

"Could just be the name of a town," he said.

"That's easy enough to find out, right?" she asked. She smiled up at him, and he was caught, as always, by her beauty. Max had clear olive skin and dark eyes. There was something cute and pretty about her mouth that made his heart turn over. Manticore hadn't succeeded in killing him outright, but he thought they'd be pretty satisfied with their misfire. Being this close, and not able to touch, made him die a little each day. 

They were bred to be beautiful, these fucked-up kid soldiers. He thought of Alec, and shuddered. Where the hell was Alec, and what was he doing now? Shortly, he was going to have to have to tell Max what had happened. 

He went to his computer and called up a state map.

"No," he said. "Maybe you're right. There's no such place listed."

Max looked very excited. "I think we're still on target," she said. "There's something there. I think Eva sent Smalton a package with information that implicated his boss in the cult. All kinds of government types are involved right? We've suspected that all along. Now he's gone, either he took off, or White got him too."

"At least it wouldn't be our fault this time," said Logan.

"I don't think it was our fault last time, either," Max insisted. "I think Eva didn't quite understand how creepy-covert all this stuff is. She maybe just wanted information, and contacted Smalton. He talked to the wrong person, and boom. White and his cronies rolled up and shut down everyone."

"Now who's making big leaps of deduction?" asked Logan.

"But it feels like it fits." Max shrugged. "And we just have this one little clue, but it's a lot."

"You know," said Logan, "a stronghold can also be a place where a controversial group meets. Maybe it's Eva's word, and not theirs. Maybe she was labeling them."

"Like, that they're kooks," said Max.

"Yeah," said Logan. "Oh, shit!"

"What?" asked Max, as Logan jumped in his chair.

"Hang on, hang on," he said. "Look." He handed her a page. "It is Eva's word. See that chart she made? Pacific/Stronghold."

"She's saying that's where she traced them to," breathed Max.

"Yeah," said Logan. "Looks like it."

"I have to go there," Max said.

  
  
  
  
  
  


To be continued. . .


	15. There's No Place Like Haiti

15. There's No Place Like Haiti

At home, Alec changed his clothes. He had a sneaking suspicion that nothing was as it seemed. Maybe he was still at Manticore. He could be down the in basement with the anomalies, and all this merely an escapist dream.

The logical thing would be to sit tight until he had better Intel. Here, it was quiet and dark. Maybe he could rest. But he felt restless, like he needed air. He had to get out and move around, or he was gonna explode. Abruptly, he was in Port-au-Prince. The sun was like razor sharp diamonds, cutting him everywhere. The noise and stench were incredible. The other relief workers were insufferably patronizing. There was one guy, a Belgian named Charles, who kept saying: "Our primary goal here is to help the locals help themselves. Give a man a fish, and he only eats for a day."

Alec, who was at that very moment engaged in a covert operation to destabilize the Haitian Government and generally fuck up life for the Haitian people, could hardly stand to listen. It was all he could do to stop from taking the guy off to the side, and snapping his neck. He went into a Quonset hut, and everything went black.

When he came back, he was on the street in Seattle, in the pouring rain. 

  
  


"You can't just barge in there," Logan was arguing. "If that's their fortress, it's going to be-- you know--fortified."

"I have to follow this path to the end, Logan." Max said. "I have to know what they're hiding, what dirty tricks they have planned. I have to find a way to stop them."

"Max," said Logan, "I want to stop them too. But the simple fact of the matter is that White is holding all the cards right now. He can operate in the daylight, while you and all the other Manticore refugees have to hide from the world."

"Ames White can kiss my transgenic ass," said Max. "I have one card, and it's a doozie."

"Yeah,"said Logan. "And when he gets it, he doesn't need to keep you alive anymore." 

For a moment they sat in silence. They had kidnaped White's son, and hidden him far away. They had done this at the request of White's own wife. Logan said quietly, "I don't need to remind you that anyone can be made to talk. I know Manticore taught you techniques to withstand interrogation, but no one can hold out forever. With enough pain, and enough pressure-- " he broke off abruptly. He realized he was no longer talking about White's son.

Max felt a sharp stab of guilt, right in her gut.

"Anyone can be made to do anything," she said. She stood in one smooth motion, and headed for the door.

"Max don't!" said Logan sharply. "The virus is not your fault! They tricked you. You know that."

"It doesn't change the fact that I'm death to you Logan," she said.

Logan tried to put the discussion back on course. His priority was Max's safety. "White has one overriding mandate," he reminded her, "and that's to see you in a body bag."

"Me and all the other freaks," said Max.

"Especially you," said Logan.

"Especially each and every one of us," Max said. "Including you, if he ever finds out who you are."

"If you're going to do this, at least take Alec for backup," Logan said reluctantly. "Make him work for us for a change."

"I don't even know where he is," said Max, irritated. She paused, her hand on the door. There was no point in keeping secrets, not from Logan. "Something's up with Alec," she said. "Something not good."

"Like what?" asked Logan.

Max said softly, "Like maybe he's sick." The word "sick" hung in the air between them, strange and frightening.

Logan said carefully, "Sick in what way?"

"Sick like Ben," said Max. "My brother Ben. His twin."

  
  
  
  
  
  


To be continued. . .


	16. Theater of the Absurd

16. Theater of the Absurd

The boxy, dark blue van was so obviously a surveillance operation, that Alec laughed out loud. He would never betray Max's position. Max was the one who had set him free. He had been a dedicated soldier until Manticore had tried to burn him alive. Now, it was time to beat the bastards at their own game, and have a little fun in the process. Casually, he sauntered toward the vehicle. When he reached the rear tires, he bent to tie an imaginary shoelace. He withdrew a Ka-Bar knife from one of his wrist sheaths, and flipped it experimentally, enjoying the heft. It felt good to have a knife in hand, just like old times. He drove the blade sideways, into the tire.

When he stood, the knife was in his sleeve. The whole operation had taken a couple of seconds. A normal person would never have seen the blade. He walked away, laughing softly. Follow me now, suckers, he thought.

  
  


"You can't just drop a bomb on me and then walk out of here," said Logan. "If Alec is going to become dangerous, we need to do something about it."

"I let him loose in the world, Logan. He's my responsibility."

Logan sighed. "Max, I agree with you."

"Alec and Ben were twinned, Logan. I don't know why I'm surprised. Ben had a dangerous flaw in his make-up. It's only logical to assume that Alec could have the same problem."

"That's not a scientific certainty, Max. Didn't Manticore test him six ways to Sunday?"

Max had returned to the living room, and now she paced back and forth. "Manticore gave him a six-month vacation in PSYOPS after Ben freaked out. I guess they thought they had him under control. But they weren't God Logan, no matter how much they played at it with their freaky little experiments."

"Besides," said Logan, "exactly how sane do you want your pet assassin to be?"

"There's that, too," said Max. She sighed harshly. "Oh Logan, he's already a killer. That's why Manticore built him."

"Max," said Logan. He took a deep breath. "After you left, he totally flipped out. He put his fist through the wall."

"What?" said Max. She looked around. She went over to the new poster and pulled it down. There was a fist sized hole driven deep into the wall. The hole was about the height of a tall man sitting in a wheelchair. She looked at Logan. "Did he hurt you?"

"I'm fine, Max."

"But did he try to hurt you?" she asked shrilly. "He hurt Cindy."

"What!" said Logan. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to worry you. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to worry you," he said. He hadn't known what the hell to tell her.

"Cindy said he was totally fixated on me." Since they were going to be forthcoming, might as well go the distance. 

Logan was badly shaken. That was what he had suspected. "I think he's having a psychotic break," he said. "I think he's disturbed. I know I am."

  
  


The Seattle Bell repairman descended from an office in Block-D, toolbox in hand. He walked over to his van, slid open the door, and tossed his tools inside. He stepped back and regarded his ride; it wasn't sitting level. He saw the flat, and groaned. "Stupid kids!" he said out loud.

  
  


To be continued. . .


	17. Your Little Dog, Too

17. Your Little Dog, Too

Logan busied himself at his computer. "The day Manticore burned to ground was a good day," he said grimly. "I'm setting up a search for local reports of street violence, attacks of any sort." He kept his eyes on the screen. "Murders."

Max stood over by the window, looking out at the view. Rain. It was always raining. Her mind wandered. What a soft life, to live in a cozy place like this. She'd never lived anywhere pretty, or nice. If not for the virus, she thought, I could be living here in this apartment, with Logan. I could lie down beside him every night. 

The thought was too painful, and she pushed it away.

"Max," said Logan.

"What?" she said sharply, feeling exposed. She looked back over her shoulder. Logan had wheeled away from the monitor.

"Talk to me, just for a minute. You're not a soldier anymore. You don't have to be so utilitarian all the time."

"I don't understand what you mean," she said with her customary bluntness.

"Max," Logan said slowly, as if speaking to a child. "If Alec has some kind of mental illness, it doesn't mean he's going to go off the deep end, cutting a swath through the civilian population, and leaving broken bodies in his wake."

Max crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly cold. "Logan, Ben pulled teeth. He pulled out people's teeth. Can you imagine?"

"No," said Logan. "And I don't really care to. But my point is--it doesn't have to end in a showdown in the forest, with only one of you walking away." He looked at her pointedly. "Alec has years of training on you, Max. Could you even beat him?"

She looked away. "You tell me what the alternative is."

"Treatment. First we capture him. We shoot him with a tranquilizer dart. Or a taser. Knock him out. Then set him up in hospital somewhere. There are doctors..."

"Doctors," Max snorted. "Like that'll work. He's too strong, Logan. And what kind of treatment? A shrink? As if!"

"Max, these are just suggestions. I'm trying to offer you alternatives."

Max paced in frustration. "Why are you talking like this, Logan? You don't even like Alec. I can't imagine any workable plan, and I'm pretty good at plans."

Logan said: "At the end of the day, I pretty much think Alec is a rat's ass. That's my bottom line here, okay? I wish he'd never come into our lives. But I'm not thinking about him. I'm thinking about you."

Max froze. She was no dummy, she knew what was coming. "Stop," she said.

"Max," said Logan, "I don't want you to have to make that horrible decision."

"Shut up," said Max.

"Max," said Logan. "Whatever happens, I have your back. You are not alone. You don't have to kill your brother all over again."

Back in '09, Max and eleven other members of her unit had escaped Manticore's Wyoming facility. Ghastly child soldiers with shaved heads, clad only in hospital gowns, they had run barefoot into the snowy night. To the extent they understood the concept, they had considered each other family. One of the escapees had been Ben, Alec's twin. Sweet Ben. Damaged Ben. Ben the insane serial killer.

It was more than she could stand. "Alec is not my brother," she said. 

Her face shut down, but not before Logan saw a desperate flash of grief. There was nothing he could do. He certainly couldn't take her in his arms and comfort her, the way a boyfriend should. "Alec has your brother's face," he said. "It's a mean, crazy world. You always knew that."

She felt like crying, but it wasn't the right time to cry, not now. She was aching for the simple fact of human contact. All she wanted was to go to him in his wheelchair. She wanted to climb into Logan's lap, to seek solace. She wanted to bury her face in his chest. 

Logan said, "We don't know what the deal is here, okay? So pull yourself together like a good little soldier." Max laughed a little, and it made his heart ache. "If Alec is sick, and if he's dangerous, maybe there's a way to contain him. Or even to help him."

"Logan," Max said. "Manticore didn't build him to drink martinis and romance the ladies. He's not here to peel potatoes. He's a killer. That's what he's for."

"And you Max," Logan shot back, knowing it was mean. "What are you for?"

Max just stood there. Finally, she looked away.

"Exactly," said Logan.

"Hey," said Max. "I just deliver packages."

Logan's computer made an irritating little noise. He wheeled around to look at the monitor. "Ah shit," he said.

Max came quickly in behind, careful not to touch him. "What?" she breathed. "Has he hurt someone?"

Logan cut her off. "No, Max. It's the Sector Police. Some guy reported being menaced by a monster. A dog-man."

"Joshua!"

  
  
  
  


  
  


To be continued. . .

  
  
  
  


Note: 

I just wanted to take a second to thank those of you who have sent in reviews. So-thanks! It's great to know you're out there. I very much appreciate all the enthusiastic support. It makes a big difference when I'm going cross-eyed from looking at the monitor too long. You guys are terrific.


	18. Monster Chiller

18. Monster Chiller

Max burst into Joshua's house, with Logan at her heels. She called out, but there was no answer. By the time Logan had seen the news bulletin, it was several hours old. They were both very worried.

A mutant sighting would be sure to draw White. Max was beside herself at the thought of Joshua in the clutches of White and his army. Joshua was gentle and kind. He had never done anything wrong. He had been born with the face of a beast, and in the eyes of society, that was a crime.

She couldn't bear to lose Joshua; she had promised herself that he would be safe. 

"Where is Cindy?" Logan said sharply. "What was she doing, while Joshua was freaking out the neighbors?"

Max drew in a painful breath. Where was Cindy, indeed?

"I can't believe Cindy would do anything stupid," he said. "She has her head on straight."

"Maybe Alec gave it a bit of spin," Max said nastily. "She was pretty shook up, Logan. If Joshua got it into his head to run out of here, she couldn't exactly stop him."

"No," Logan agreed. "She's less than half his size. But she could have exercised moral authority." Part of Joshua's gentleness was his childlike nature.

"Something must have happened," said Max. She backed up, and fell over a stack of books. "Damn," she said. "He never puts them back on the shelf." She scooted to the side and got back on her feet. "I'm gonna scout out the neighborhood. Go home, do your thing. See if you can pick up their trail." She wanted Logan in a secure location.

Logan would have preferred to stay by her side, but he knew he'd only slow her down. He felt a fresh surge of impotence. He had a lot of skills, but he couldn't back her in a fight. A man naturally wanted to protect the woman he loved. The fact that his sometime girlfriend was a super-soldier didn't change that. Unhappily, he could only watch and wait. Sometimes letting go was the better part of valor, no matter how much it sucked. All he said was, "Keep in touch."

  
  


Alec wandered the city. He was operating with fun house logic. Noise was too loud, and light was painfully bright. He wanted to pull off the top of his head, and claw out his own brains. He wanted to jump in a hole, and draw the dark earth around him. He just wanted it all to stop. 

He stepped off the curb, and into the noisy hold of a transport plane. They were over the drop zone, so Alec clipped his static line to the anchor line cable and jumped into the icy black sky. The wind whistled past his head at one hundred and twenty-five miles per hour. He was pretty sure there was supposed to be a parachute playing out behind him right about now, but he was still free falling. He looked over his shoulder. Nope, no canopy.He triggered his AAD, but it was malfunctioning too. "For crying out loud," he said. It was going to be a mighty big bounce.

There was a teeth-jarring impact that left him breathless, as someone grabbed him from behind, hanging on tight around his waist. It was X5-467, free flying. He had adjusted his fall rate to match Alec's, and tracked horizontally until he caught up. He used the grips on Alec's suit to maneuver so that they were face to face. Alec wound his arms through the other man's webbing.

"Always double-check your rig, you stupid shit!" screamed 467, spitting. 

"The entire container is fucked!" Alec yelled at the man who would become his friend Biggs.

"Are you ready, 494?" bellowed Biggs, right in Alec's face.

"Yeah!" Alec shouted. They would have to deploy Biggs' reserve canopy, because to catch up to Alec he'd jumped without clipping on his static line. Hopefully, his reserve would be up to the task. Alec braced himself for the opening shock, hanging on tight, and found himself staring into the headlights of an oncoming car.

Someone grabbed him by the arm, yanking him out of the way. Alec found himself staring into the face of a lizard man. His mouth dropped open. Plainly, this creature could not be real. "You are a figment of my imagination," Alec said. He ran away.

"Asshole," said Mole, slinking back into the shadows. He chomped on his cigar, watching the crazy guy take off down the street. Like it wasn't enough they had the whole rest of the world to play in, he thought. 

He wished the Ordinaries would stay out of Terminal City.


	19. Pacific Stronghold

19. Pacific Stronghold

Max beat the bushes. No Joshua, no Cindy. With each passing minute, her anxiety grew. She was certain they'd been captured. She'd checked the seedy residential area, and all the alleys. She even looked around the meager business district. There wasn't much there. A few shops were open for business, but they were busy and brightly lit, so she skipped them. Joshua would never have gone in any of them.

She was overwhelmed. Joshua missing, Cindy missing, Alec cracking up, murder, mayhem, secret hideaways, all in the space of a couple of days. It was a lot for a girl to process. Time to check in with Logan. Maybe he had a lead. She patted down her pockets and swore when she realized her cell was gone. She wondered how this day could possibly get worse.

  
  


Logan's phone rang, and he snapped it up. "Max," he breathed.

"Logan," she said, "I can't find them anywhere."

"White has Joshua," he said bluntly. There was no point in trying to break it to her gently.

"What?" she asked. "Where? How do you know?"

"I saw it on the news," he replied. "I'm sorry. There was a special bulletin announcing the capture of a dangerous mutant. I saw Joshua in custody. White was very much in evidence."

"What about Cindy?" she asked.

"No sign of Cindy," said Logan. He didn't mention that she was most likely dead; White would have no use for her.

"You saw Joshua?" Max asked. She sounded forlorn and far away.

"Max, come home," he said.

"What did you see?" she said.

Logan sighed. "I saw footage of White with a prisoner in custody. He had a bag over his head, but he had to be Joshua. Nobody else is that big. He was manacled hand and foot."

"He must be so afraid," said Max, her voice breaking. "Where do they have him?"

He knew what was coming, but he told her anyway. "They're at the Pacific facility. They didn't say so on the news, but I reactivated an old GPS satellite and practically watched a simulcast."

"You hacked a GPS satellite," Max said, smiling involuntarily. She was quiet for a moment, in admiration. Logan was very good at what he did. "I'm going," she said.

"Max, you'll never make it," he said.

Max said, "I have to try."

The phone line was open between them, but it was terribly insubstantial, no kind of lifeline at all. "I'll be careful." She hung up, abruptly.

Logan swore, and immediately dialed her back. The phone rang and rang, but she didn't pick up. She had neglected to tell him she was calling from a payphone.

  
  


Max hopped on her Ninja, and barreled through town. When she reached the city limits, she ignored the guard, who was waving madly for her to slow down. She lowered her head, floored it, and smashed through the barrier. He wouldn't chase her. He couldn't leave his post. Besides, she did it all the time.

  
  
  
  


To be continued. . .


	20. At the Frankenstein Place

20. At the Frankenstein Place

The door to Sandeman's opened, and in Joshua came, with Original Cindy. They each had large ice creams. Joshua was wearing a motorcycle helmet; it looked silly, but it covered the better part of his face, allowing him to go out in public. You had to keep him on a short leash, though, thought OC. He wasn't so good with the social interaction.

"Hot," said Joshua, pulling off the helmet. Like doggies everywhere, he had the tendency to breathe through his mouth.

"Eat your cone, Sugar," Cindy said affectionately. "That'll cool you down." Ice cream was dear in post-Pulse Seattle, and she didn't want him to waste any. She'd made him take vanilla, she didn't know if he could eat chocolate. It was an interesting question.

Joshua pricked up his ears. He heard a faint noise, like an angry mosquito. He found something on the floor. "Max," he said.

"I didn't know you had a cell phone," said Cindy.

"Max was here." He pointed to his nose. "I smell her." He had accidently opened the line, and they both heard a voice. Cindy took the phone, and put it to her ear.

"Hello," she said whimsically.

"Max," said Logan. "Where are you?"

"This ain't Max," said OC. "This is Original Cindy. Who's there?"

"Cindy?" said Logan. "This is Logan. We've been worried sick about you."

"We just went for ice cream," said Cindy. Her cone was melting, and she licked her hand. "Can I call you back? I'm kinda in the middle of something."

"No, you cannot call me back!" Logan snapped.

Cindy was taken aback. This seemed to be her day for angry males, and she wasn't having it. "Don't talk to Original Cindy with that voice, or I'm hanging up."

"Cindy," said Logan, confused, "we've been looking for you everywhere. When we heard Joshua got captured we thought you were dead."

"Joshua's not captured. He's on the sofa. Ain't that right, Boo?" she said to Joshua.

"Joshua's with you," said Logan, feeling sick.

"I just told you we went for ice cream."

"You took Joshua out in public?" he asked.

Cindy laughed. "He wore his helmet. No running, no screaming," she said, paraphrasing Joshua.

"Cindy, put Max on the phone," said Logan.

"What do you mean put Max on the phone?" said OC. "She ain't here. Is this her phone?"

Logan was dizzy. If Cindy and Joshua were okay, who did White have in custody? Quickly, he thought over the events of the past few days. Eva Vadas was killed, leaving behind the words 'Smalton,' 'Stronghold,' and 'Pacific.' That led to Smalton, who was missing, but had left a map of Pacific County, emblazoned with the word 'Stronghold.' A mutant was captured, and White, usually so camera-shy, flashed his teeth for all the world to see. The mutant was escorted into the Pacific facility. Max, heroic and honorable, had a history of riding to the rescue.

Logan was stunned. It was a trap, and an obvious one at that. Like rank amateurs, they'd fallen for it, because they so badly wanted the dark prize. Max was at that moment racing headlong into danger, and the bad guys were ready for her. 

"Logan," said OC. "Where's Max? What's goin' on?"

Logan almost hung up then. But he took a deep breath and began to explain, the evidence of his own stupidity cutting him to the quick. He lay out the situation for Cindy, not that there was anything she could do. He had to go after Max. If they didn't come back, at least someone would know. Someone would know what had happened to them.

  
  


At full throttle, her Ninja ate up the highway. There was no traffic after curfew. There was no longer much in the way of social infra-structure, so she had to keep a careful eye out for potholes. Before long, she was in Pacific County. Like all X-5s, she had a photographic memory. She had a perfect picture of Mike Smalton's map in her head. Max began to look for the stronghold, praying that Joshua was still alive.

  
  


In his Aztek, Logan smashed through the makeshift barricade at the city limits checkpoint. He sped off into the night. The guard, who had been in his hut, warming his hands on a cup of tea and trying to calm his nerves, emerged howling. How did they expect him to work this way? These people had no respect for authority. They were animals!

  
  
  
  


To be continued. . .


	21. One or Two Legits

21. One or Two Legits

Original Cindy was doing some serious thinking. She couldn't do anything to help Max, not her own self. Not Joshua, neither. He was strong, but he was no soldier-boy fighter. Pretty soon Logan was going to be in bad trouble, too. That left only one option, and she didn't like it much. She had to ask Alec for help.

She didn't want to go near him. He was acting wild and crazy. But she would never forgive herself if something happened to Max and she hadn't tried to help. With shame, she thought about how weak and stupid she'd felt earlier, letting him shake her like a little rag doll. That wasn't who OC was, she had her pride. She was a strong woman.

That was why she was standing at Alec's door.

She didn't bother knocking. She pushed it open. She found him in the back room, curled up in a ball. She felt like kicking him, so she did. 

"Wake up, dummy," she said.

  
  


Max found the stronghold without any difficulty. It didn't look like a fortress. No razor wire, no sentries. It looked more like a big old house, surrounded by trees. There was a wall, which she jumped easily. She approached stealthily, through the woods, keeping low. Maybe she'd caught a break; after all, White didn't know they were aware of this location. She was no longer interested in her investigation. The mission had changed. Her only objective was to liberate Joshua, and OC too, if she was still alive. She came upon the house. So far so good. She got down on her stomach and elbows, and inched through the brush, pushing herself forward with her toes.

There was eerie electric snap, and the entire area was illuminated. Flood lights. She jumped to her feet. Shadowy figures were melting seamlessly out of the bushes. She dropped into a fighting stance, but there were too many of them. In a moment she was surrounded by men, all of them in combat gear. Half of them were armed. The others assumed various postures, arms loose and slightly away from their sides. They were made all the more frightening by the fact that they were, to a man, expressionless. 

This is very bad, she thought, as they formed a loose perimeter.

"452," said a voice, and she looked over her shoulder to see Ames White. "I knew you'd come to my party," he said. "I just had to send the right invitation."

She looked at him numbly.

With a cross draw he produced a .22, and without any preamble, shot her in the shoulder.

The impact drove her backward, and she fell on her ass. Panting, she tried to scramble to her feet. With the gun trained on her, White said tonelessly, "Stay down."

"Where's Joshua?" Max demanded. "Did you kill him?"

"Who?" he asked, with a faint smile.

"The mutant!" she screamed. "Where is he?"

"452," said White, "the only mutant here is you."

She got up into a crouch, cradling her wounded arm, one hand on the ground for balance. She was getting the picture now, and feeling pretty damn stupid.

"Did you kill Eva Vadas?" she asked tiredly. "Just so you could get to me?"

"Not me personally," said White. "But I gave the order. Because of you. So, one could say that you killed Eva Vadas."

Max was infuriated. Bad guys operated with an oblique logic peculiar unto themselves. Typically, they were fond of delegating blame. According to them, they never killed anyone unless Max drove them to it. Max was responsible for all the killing. The worst part of this particular scam was that it worked; guilt attached to Max like iron to a loadstone. She did feel responsible for all the killing.

"What about Smalton?" she asked bitterly. "Is he dead too?"

White gestured, and one of the Familiars stepped forward. He had white blond hair and dark blue eyes. He possessed an ugly beauty, reptilian and menacing. He stared at her out of hooded eyes.

"He's one of you," she said. She looked at him. She wanted to remember his face. Because of him, an innocent woman was dead.

"452," White said, with a certain amount of pity, "you really have no idea." He came closer and crouched down. He looked in her eyes. "Where is he?" he said. "Where is my son?"

She pressed her lips together.

White made another gesture, and Max threw up her hands to ward off what was coming.

Smalton hit her with the butt of his rifle. Then he hit her again, and after that she knew no more.

  
  
  
  


To be continued. . .


	22. Name, Rank, and Serial Number

22. Name, Rank, and Serial Number

Alec had been dreaming, something ugly and terrifying. He was glad to be awake. He felt somewhat steadier. He propped himself up on his elbows. "Cindy?" he said. "What are you doing here?" Cindy had never been to his place before.

OC jumped back. "Stay there!" she said sharply. She seemed scared. He couldn't imagine why.

"Don't touch me," she said.

"Okay," he said cautiously. He would never touch OC. She ought to know that. In fact, he was very fond of her. He thought she was lively and pretty, and a good friend to Max.

"You've been acting bad," she said. "I don't know why. I don't care. Now I'm going to tell you a story, so pay attention. You're going to pull yourself together. My girl has got herself in a big mess of trouble, and you have to go rescue her."

  
  


By the light of his Mini Mag, Logan consulted the map. He drove a bit further, and then checked it again. If he was right, the stronghold was just over the hill, through the trees. He pulled over, wishing he had some cover for his car. He hung a camera and a press pass around his neck, then checked his gun, jacking a shell into the chamber. He opened the door, and put one foot on the ground.

"Freeze," someone said, without inflection. Logan glanced sideways, and saw the muzzle pressed against his cheek. Well, that's about the way things have been going, he thought. Letting the pistol dangle uselessly from his index finger, Logan put up his hands.

  
  


Max was frightened. She'd awoken strapped to an examining table. At least she was fully clothed, for which she was deeply grateful. She'd had a bad moment when she noticed the stirrups. Her wound, as painful as an open fracture, had been dressed by a taciturn medic. He had taken her vitals, noting her increased pulse and respiration. He recorded her blood pressure, and listened to her secondhand heart. She knew he would advise them on her physical breaking point. No point in torturing someone if they were going to die before giving up their secrets. They hadn't injected her with any chemicals, not yet. That would come later, when she was tired, and hurting so bad, it would seem like sweet relief. She'd have no idea what they were asking her, or what she was telling them in return.

Her pupils were dilated. The medic shined a light in her eyes, and asked her some questions. She ignored him. She was busy. In her head, she was cutting off pieces of herself and hiding them. She wanted to be far, far away when the hurting started.

  
  


Alec raided his stash, and put together some gear. He had to travel light, so he only took five knives, two for his wrist sheathes, two for his boots, and a folding utility knife. He got out his best rifle, a reconditioned SVD. While he was looking in his drawer for a pair of clean socks, he found an old PS2 pistol, and he packed it for backup. It was just a street gun, and not very reliable. He added a fully functional Ruger KP97, which he intended to give to Max, because it was really light. He packed his garrote, and what grenades he had on hand, including a few of the black market Chinese prismatics. They were mostly useless, but in a pinch could take the place of flash grenades. He added a coil of rope, because you never know.

Down the block, he liberated a car from some Metal Heads. "Out you go," he said pleasantly, flashing the Ruger. They took off into the night, like scared little bunnies. 

He was wearing a night stalker outfit, all-black camo, very cool, complete with gloves and a watch cap that rolled down into a mask.

He found if he concentrated really hard, he could keep his mind on the task at hand. It helped that the world was dark and peaceful. He reached the checkpoint, and was mildly surprised to find it unmanned. He didn't slow down. There was no need. The highway was a rich, black river, filled with promises. He sped along, happy to finally be mobilizing. He was looking forward to the action.

  
  
  
  


To be continued. . .


	23. No Pain, No Gain

23. No Pain, No Gain

The Torturer's Handbook advises frequent breaks. The psychology of torture isn't terribly complicated; most people fear pain a great deal, and it is helpful to give them time to let that fear build up in their minds. In any event, torturers need bathroom breaks too. Periodically, they have to check in with their bosses, and assess the situation.

This is how Max finally came to be alone in a windowless, dirt-floored basement cell. She lay on her back, breathing shallowly, almost panting. Her eyes were open, but she wasn't aware of her surroundings. She was still elsewhere, which was a better place to be at present, than here.

  
  


Logan had his hands on his head, and was being marched down a dank basement hallway. The interrogation had taken forever. He was lying, they were lying, and with everybody lying the barrage of questions grew stale and circuitous and it was hard to establish any forward momentum. Throughout the entire experience his fear for Max had been a living thing, like a frantic bird beating against a plate glass window. He'd told them he was a reporter, looking for a photo of the scary mutant. They hadn't touched him. He was relieved. What if they confiscated the exoskeleton? He couldn't walk without it. He'd be helpless. Useless. One of the Familiars opened a door and shoved Logan inside. Across the room was a cell, and he could see Max lying on the floor. She looked like she was in a bad way, and he almost blew it by calling out her name.

"What the hell is going on?" he said. No one responded. He hadn't expected them to, but he was clinging to his cover. Now that he'd gotten his stupid self captured, he couldn't let them use him against Max.

She obviously hadn't given up yet, but now she had to bear both their weight. Logan knew that Max was very strong, but with the two of them trapped in the cold dark heart of their enemy's fortress, her force of will seemed too slender a reed for them both to be grabbing at against the rising current. When Max told White where his son was--and she would, eventually--they were dead. Seeing her battered and bruised, knowing that he only added to her burden, Logan resolved to do whatever he could to help her.

One of the Familiars put a hand on Logan's back and shoved him into the cell. That was the moment he knew. They may not know he was Eyes Only, or what he and Max meant to each other, but they knew that Logan had come for her.

He skidded in the dirt, pin wheeling his arms. He didn't want to fall on her. He couldn't touch her at the best of times, and now she was bleeding in several places. He saw that the shoulder of her jersey had been cut away to accommodate a field dressing. Blood was soaking through the gauze. He turned and grabbed the bars. "She needs medical attention," he yelled after the departing Familiars.

White entered, looking amused. "She's had medical attention," he said. "She's going to have more soon." He came close to the bars. He seemed to be sniffing the air. "You're human," he said.

"What else would I be?" said Logan.

"What do you want with the likes of her?" asked White.

"I've never seen her before in my life," maintained Logan, desperately grasping at the last shards of his cover story. "But, please help her. She's bleeding."

"Help her yourself," said White. "You can stop the bleeding."

Logan stood gripping the cell bars. He had no gloves, no bandages; if he touched her, he'd die. Such are the moments that define the chaotic incoherence of a man's life, and which define all the moments that follow thereafter. The woman that he loved lay at his feet. She had been mistreated, was injured and bleeding, and he could not touch her.

"Why won't you help her?" asked White, interested. 

Logan felt like screaming. 

"Is it because she's filth?" said White. "Is that why?"

"Go ahead," came a voice, weak and breathy. "Call me names." 

Both men looked at Max, who was still flat on her back. She was staring at the ceiling. "I can't stop you," she said, with some effort. "But it just doesn't bother me." Laboriously, she sat up. "Hello," she said to Logan. "Who are you?"

Disgusted, White turned on his heel and left the room.

"Max," said Logan.

"Shh," she said, listening. "Okay."

"Max," he said again.

"Oh, Logan," she said, heartbroken. "What are you doing here?"

  
  
  
  


To be continued. . .


	24. Breathless

24. Breathless

Alec took out four sentries with four silenced rounds. He was actually a great deal faster than his rifle, an occupational hazard for X Series snipers. They always had to be careful their weapons didn't overheat. He was super alert, his senses keen. For the first time in days, he felt in good form. Now he was relaxing into muscle memory; he felt capable of anything. He secured his rifle and advanced quietly, until he heard a noise. He did a quick fade into the shadows, holding his breath. He even closed his eyes, so they wouldn't reflect and give away his position. The Familiar passed within half a meter of him. Moving with enhanced speed, he grabbed the big lug and strangled him with the garrote. Maybe they were stronger and faster, but they could still be ambushed.

Slitting the Familiar's throat would have been more satisfying, but he had a plan. He began to strip. He would have liked to kill them all, he was having fun for the first time in ages, but Alec was above all a good soldier. Infiltration was clearly the way to go, and this guy was just about his size.

  
  


"I'm so sorry," said Logan. They were sitting on opposite sides of the cell, backs to the wall, as far apart as they could get. Max had drawn up her knees, and was resting her head on them. Logan thought she looked like a little girl.

"White knew I would come," she said softly. "Like a dope, I'd come running."

"Max," he said, "it's the best thing about you, how brave you are." He slipped out of his coat. She watched him warily.

"Maybe it's the end of the line now. But you could still have a chance," he said.

"No," she said, with finality. "There's no cavalry. We're cut off, Logan."

"You might still get your chance," he repeated. "And when you see it, I want you to run like hell." He began to crawl toward her. "But you're never going to get that chance if White is using me against you."

  
  


Alec waltzed into the main building, unchallenged. He'd do a quick search, locate Max, and blast their way out of there. It was a good plan, practically poetic. At the very least they would go out in a blaze of glory, and that would be kind of beautiful.

  
  


"Don't touch me," Max said, stricken.

"Please," said Logan. "Let me do this one last thing for you. I love you, Max, and this is all I have to offer. Let me hold you, one last time."

  
  


Max and Logan were a pair of prize idiots, thought Alec. Any bozo could see this place was a trap. The entire setup was designed to let you in. Didn't he just mosey up to the door like a girl guide selling cookies? 

Someone tackled him from behind. He went down hard and his rifle skittered across the hardwood floor. He managed to turn and kick the guy in the gut. It was one of the Familiars, a weird looking guy with pale blond hair and dark eyes. 

Alec flipped deftly to his feet, and for a moment they exchanged blows. They grappled, and Alec was thrown. He hit his head on the wall and saw stars. Before he knew it, he was on his belly, and the Familiar was tying his hands behind his back.

Alec managed to squirm away. He rolled over. He didn't need his hands to jump to his feet. The Familiar came after him swinging, and Alec dodged. He jumped again, and got his feet cleanly through his bound wrists. He had his hands in front now, and he swung them together like he was going for a home run. He got the blond in the nose, and heard a wet noise as it splintered. The guy was dead before he hit the floor.

Alec got a knife from his boot, and cut his hands free. He collected his rifle. He looked at the dead blond guy, shrugged, and headed up the hall, checking all the rooms. He opened a heavy door, and discovered White and cadre sitting around a long, mahogany table, deep in discussion.

"Whoopsie," he said, slamming the door. He got a grenade off his belt, and pulled the pin with his teeth. He opened the door; no one had reacted yet. He threw the grenade and slammed the door, but this time he ran like hell. He took cover in the basement stairwell. There was a very big bang. After that, ringing silence. Then he heard the sobs.

  
  


"Please don't do this, please don't do this," Max was crying. Logan knelt in front of her, feeling very peaceful. Despite the gash on her temple, she was lovely. She took his breath away.

"Max," he said, because this time it really was the end, "I'll always be your guy." 

He reached for her.

There was a snikt, and the basement door opened. Max rolled sideways, under Logan's arm, and jumped to her feet. She had to jump back again to keep from tripping.

Alec entered, dressed as a Familiar.

"Hey, boys and girls," he said cheerfully. "Did you pick up your room and put away your toys? Who wants to go for a ride?"

"He seems better," said Logan.

  
  
  
  


To be continued. . .


	25. That's Where You'll Find Me

25. That's Where You'll Find Me

Alec fumbled with the cell lock, momentarily losing focus. He wiped his eye. He had a deep cut in his hair line, and blood was dripping into his eyebrow.

"Quit screwing around," Max said fretfully. Her legs had collapsed, and she was again sitting in the dirt.

"Hold your water," Alec muttered. The utility knife wasn't cutting it as a lock pick. He finally had to snip his garrote, and use two lengths of wire. "That knife has a design flaw," he complained. "I'm writing to the manufacturer."

The basement door slammed open, and in rushed one of the Familiars. His face was blackened, and he was bleeding from the nose and ears.

"Oh, hi," said Alec.

"Jesus!" said Logan. Earlier, Alec had passed him the rifle. He jammed the butt of the weapon to his shoulder, but it all happened too quickly, and the cell bars were in the way.

Alec twisted, and suddenly the Familiar had a deep, bloody gash on his cheek. Alec had a knife in either hand, and Logan had no idea where he'd gotten them. The Familiar kicked Alec in the stomach, and he flew across the room. He bounced on his ass like a skipping stone. Alec rolled over his shoulder and came to his knees, flipping the knives. He made a sharp motion. One knife whistled by the Familiar's head, slicing off a chunk of his ear before imbedding in the wall. There was a moment of quiet, then they all realized the other knife was buried up to the hilt in the meat of the Familiar's throat. He stumbled back, eyes popping, making a gruesome wheezing sound. Then he took a step forward, clawing at his neck. He swayed slightly. Finally, he fell with a resounding thud. 

"I thought he was going to stand there all day," said Alec.

Logan, looking from Alec's manic grin to the dead body, felt his gorge rise.

"Quit screwing around," Max repeated, unruffled.

  
  


Alec supported Max with one arm, and shouldered the door with the other. She had handed the Ruger off to Logan, irritating him a bit, because he'd brought it especially for her. "We've got to make tracks, Maxie," he said. "I don't know who else is around, and I was a little noisy coming in."

Logan followed them, shaking. He seemed to have PTSD.

Max gasped.

"Are you okay?" asked Alec.

"I hurt," she said simply, as they stumbled down the hall. She coiled a hand in his hair so she could bring her lips close to his ear. "Alec," she said softly. "Whatever happens, Logan's life means more to me than my own. Promise me you'll take care of him."

"Sure, Max," he said. The soft the brush of her lips had been almost a kiss.

She said, "I think I'm gonna be ladylike now."

"That's okay," said Alec, with a grin. She fainted and he knelt slightly, catching her over his shoulder.

Logan seemed to snap awake. "Is she all right?" he asked.

"Just tuckered out," said Alec. "She's delicate."

  
  


Alec had done quite a bit of damage, Logan was pleased to see, and they didn't meet any more resistance on the way out. Alec dithered for a moment, about going back to finish White, but Logan convinced him a speedy retreat was in order. "All right," said Alec. "She needs a medic. I can take her on the bike."

Logan was doubtful. He didn't want to lose sight of her just yet. "It's the fastest way," said Alec. "I can have her home in a jiff."

"No way," said Logan.

"Do you want to be the one to tell her we left her bike behind?" asked Alec.

"Put her in my car," Logan insisted.

"Look," said Alec reasonably, "one of us has to take the bike, right? And you don't have the fine motor control."

"Uh-huh," said Logan.

"One of us has to take Max, and you can't help her if she needs something, check?" Alec looked at Logan expectantly.

"What?" said Logan. He was distracted by the sight of Max's heart-shaped ass, high up in the air, nestled between Alec's ear and shoulder.

"I was making a list," said Alec, completely exasperated. He wiped blood off the tip of his nose, his other hand gripping Max's thighs. "Now you say 'check.'"

"Check," said Logan irritably. "Alec, can't you hold her properly? That must be uncomfortable for her."

"She'll live," said Alec indifferently. "I need a free hand. What if I have to draw down on somebody?"

"For Christ's sake," snapped Logan. "I have a gun, too." He waved the Ruger in Alec's face. "Hold her with two arms!"

"Ah-ha," said Alec. "That's exactly the point I was trying to make. I have to be the one to hold her. You can't touch her." He shut up abruptly, thinking he was talking too fast. He reached up and grabbed Max by the seat of her pants, making Logan wince. He pulled her down so that now he was holding her with one arm under her knees, and the other wrapped around her shoulders. He pressed her face to his chest.

"Fine," said Logan miserably. "But Alec, her life means more to me than anything. Get her back safely. Please."

Alec rolled his eyes. "Whatever," he said. He straddled the bike, propping Max in front of him, which only worked because she was so small. She lolled back against him, but with his reflexes, he didn't anticipate a problem. He looked over at Logan. The fact that Logan would be a pretty easy kill drifted through his mind. Just take out one of the servo motors on his exoskeleton, and he'd be dead in the water. He was mindful of Max's plea. "Watch your six, Logan," he admonished gruffly, thereby discharging his duty.

"Huh?" said Logan. He watched them speed away, with growing unease. Sure, Alec seemed okay now, but he didn't like leaving Max in his care. He didn't like it one bit.

  
  
  
  


To be continued. . .


	26. This is Radio Free Seattle!

26. This is Radio Free Seattle!

Out on the highway, Max awoke with a start. Alec pulled over sharply, and she stumbled off the bike. She sank down in the tall grass at the side of the road. She was feverish and vague. "I want to drive," she said crossly.

"You're not well enough," he said. "Hop on the back like a good little girl."

She looked up at him, "I have a policy. Nobody drives my Ninja but me."

He laughed. "You can enforce that policy tomorrow. Now cooperate with me," he said. "We need to get you patched up." Then he faded away.

  
  


"Where did you go just now?" she said a moment later.

"What?" said Alec.

"You had a blackout. I saw it."

"No, I didn't," he said. The sun was rising, and he shuddered. He leaned over and roughly grabbed her arm, pulling her to her toes. "Hurry up," he said shortly. "Get on."

  
  


Morning was always pretty, even on sad days. Original Cindy stood on Joshua's front porch, looking at the sky. Most of the pigeons got eaten in the days of chaos after The Pulse, but she heard one now, cooing in the distance. She tried to take that as a good omen. She hadn't slept a wink for worrying about Max, and Logan too. Where were her friends? Were they alive? She didn't know if Alec even had a rescue in him, he was so messed up.

She heard a small noise, and turned to see Joshua, partly hidden in the shadows. It was early. There was nobody around yet. She sketched a wave, and he came out beside her, the weather-beaten floorboards creaking under his weight. She leaned against his great big shoulder. She caught a faint whiff of Joshua's own smell, less an odor than the sweet scent of life, the promise of puppies playing in the sunshiny grass. She thought about how cruel it was to keep him cooped up in a cage. They could stand there another minute, in the early morning light, before Joshua had to hurry inside to hide.

  
  


Logan finally had to turn off the main road and pull over, he was shaking so badly. He got out of the car and took a few steps into the field, taking deep breaths. When a guy steeled himself to make the greatest romantic gesture of all time, only to be saved at the last second by a smirking, gore-spattered super-trooper, it took a moment or two to switch gears.

He hoped that Alec was exhibiting a semblance of sanity now, and that it had been the right thing to let him speed off into the night with Max. Max was terribly injured, and she needed to be looked after, not harassed.

Logan couldn't really think any complex thoughts. He was too tired. The wind kicked up, and he headed back to his car. He made a wish that today would be a better day.

  
  


Max opened her eyes, thinking she was still White's prisoner. Then she remembered, and sat up with a groan. She was in bed. A big messy bed. She was wearing only her bra and underpants, which she found disturbing. Her shoulder burned, but the dressing was fresh. In general, she felt cleaned up and tended to, but the room was close and stuffy. The twisted bedclothes had that special man aroma that came from not changing the sheets.

Alec was at the window with his back to her, peering out the blinds. He was still wearing the Familiar's combat costume, looking lean and predatory. He seemed like he was on sentry duty, which made her feel anxious. Surely they were in the clear? She found she couldn't remember much after arriving at Doctor Carr's office.

"Alec?" she said.

"Hey, Max," he said, turning. "You're up." 

"I don't mean to be picky," she said, covering her breasts with her good arm, "but where are my clothes?" She was thinking that if she'd known she was going to be tortured and stripped, she would have worn less revealing underwear.

He smiled. "We had to cut off your shirt to get at that shoulder. It's not a bad wound, by the way. White just wanted to clip your wing."

"And?" she said.

"And I figured you might as well be comfortable," he said. "I was a perfect gentleman. Come on, Max. It's me, Alec."

She found she wasn't much comforted. She was feeling kind of creepy. She wanted to lock herself in a quiet room, and not let anybody touch her for a while. She lay back in the bed. She was in rough shape. She hadn't felt this bad since her heart transplant. "Thanks for getting us out of there," she said. "Things were looking pretty grim. How did you know?"

He rubbed his forehead, like he had a headache. "I don't know," he said. "I think OC came and got me."

"OC," Max said, surprised. She looked at him, but he didn't say anything else. Max left it. She would bust his chops later, when she got back on her feet.

Alec went back to the window. Over his shoulder he said, "I notice you haven't asked about Logan yet."

She got scared, fast. "What about Logan? Is he okay? Where is he?"

"I have no idea." Alec shrugged. "We got separated."

"Where's your phone? We can try calling him." She stood, and was immediately dizzy.

"Your first thought wasn't of Logan," he said, stripping off the tac vest.

"What?" she said, irritated.

He turned to face her. "It was of me. You said my name." He pulled off his dark sweater, and tossed it in the corner. 

"That's because you were standing right there!" she said. She felt Alec was being petty and cheap. The events of the previous night were clear in her mind. She was still reeling from the fact that Logan had been prepared to lay down his life for her.

Alec padded toward her, lithely, scarily. She stumbled backwards in disquiet, and he caught her arm. Rawly, he pulled her to him, and then he kissed her.

She felt herself relax into the kiss. She was hurt and tired, and it was a dark, sweet kiss. Maybe something in his blood called to her. Then with an upward elbow strike, she drove him back.

"What do you think you're doing?" she yelled.

"Forget Logan," he said, gasping. "Forget he ever existed. We were made for each other, Max. Literally made for each other. You and me."

  
  


Logan listened to the radio as he drove. After The Pulse, radio had enjoyed a resurgence in popularity. The FCC had been in disarray, and the airwaves were crammed with guerilla broadcasts. Now, under martial law, the programming was strictly regulated and much less interesting, but it was company in the lonely morning.

He was wondering if he should have let Alec go back after White. At the time, Logan's rational had been that Max was badly injured, and they had to get her to safety. On the way in, Alec had been lucky. In a rematch, he was just as likely to get creamed. Then again, Alec was an experienced assassin, who by all appearances very much enjoyed his work. Maybe winding him up and sending him after White would have been just the ticket.

With his hands on the wheel, Logan leaned forward and looked at the sky, which had taken on a nicotine yellow cast. Looks like rain, he thought. That'll be a nice change.

He was listening to the Seattle local news with half an ear, when a name caught his attention. He turned up the volume.

  
  


She rolled backward across the bed. He sore shoulder sang out, but it was the fastest way to her trousers. She snatched them off a chair. She stepped into them and snapped, "Keep your hands off me!"

She snagged her boots in one hand, and ran into the front room. Alec followed. She dropped her boots and hit him with a flat fist. He grabbed at her and she danced back, snapping a side kick. He blocked her with his forearm. She kicked again, a front thrust, and he caught her calf, which was the problem with kicking. He yanked her to him, and hooked her other ankle. She fell on her back, saying "Ooof!"

He leapt on top of her, which was what she'd been most afraid of; he was bigger and stronger. He pinned her wrists with one hand, fumbling at her waistband. She struggled, grunting, "Get off!"

She finally squirmed to her side. He had a hand on her neck, but she managed to roll away. She crab-walked and put some space between them. She allowed herself to fall back against the floor, and drew in her legs, kicking up and around, bringing her feet down sharply. She was able to kip up, landing on her feet. She jumped out of his reach, panting. 

"You're a rapist!" she screamed at him. He looked momentarily surprised. Then he advanced on her again, and she struck him in the face with the heel of her palm. He tried another hold, and she blocked him. She lunged at the door, smashing it open with her good shoulder. Wounded, barefoot and shirtless, she ran out into the street.

  
  
  
  


To be continued. . .


	27. On the Streets, Love

27. On the Streets, Love

Alec hesitated in the doorway, shielding his eyes with the back of his hand. She put on a burst of speed, and managed to get some distance between them. She ran down an alley, and little stones and bits of glass pricked her feet. She hopped a sagging backyard fence. The grass was overgrown and littered with cheap children's toys. She stepped on a plastic car, saying, "Ow--shit!" 

She saw an open basement window and dove in headfirst, rolling so she ended up on her feet. She hugged the wall, breathing hard and feeling hopeless. She couldn't take much more of this. She was way too weak. She tried to catch her breath, standing still and listening, her face tilted up toward the window. Had she lost him?

She was in a laundry room. She smelled soap and mildew. She usually didn't like to steal from people this poor, but she needed something to wear. In a basket she found a clean, dark sweatshirt with a hood. It was way too big, but it would do for now. She pulled the sweater of some strange man she would never meet over her head, bitting her lip as she tucked her sore shoulder into the sleeve. Her heart--and even now she thought of it as Zack's heart--squished in her ears, making a shush, shush, shush sound, while her scattered thoughts stuttered in counterpoint. She couldn't stay here. She had to find a phone. She couldn't remember when she had last seen Logan. She had a gap in her memory. She had to make sure he was okay. She was afraid Alec had hurt him, or worse.

She wiped her eyes, and her hand was shaking. She felt a depressing rush of self-pity. She wasn't strong enough to get on top of this situation. She was sick! She was really sick, and Alec was crazy. He was totally crazy, she knew that now. Like his twin before him, he'd gone out too far on thin ice. He'd fallen through, and as with any drowning man, was capable of taking everybody with him. 

Where was Logan?

She had to find a way to stop Alec. She had to stay out of his clutches. She shivered, feeling sick to her stomach. That tussle back at the house had obviously been his nasty idea of foreplay. He wasn't thinking right. OC had said he was obsessed with her. Maybe the idea that Manticore had assigned them to be breeding partners was ricocheting around in his mixed up mind. 

Where was Logan?

She had to get to a phone. That was manageable. She crawled back out the window, grunting as her feet scraped the wall, and sneaked out of the yard. The sky had grown dark. The air was heavy. It was pressing down on her, collapsing her lungs. She heard a rumble. There was an enormous crack of lightening, and it began to rain.

Leaving her bolt hole had been a mistake. She went around the corner, and there he was. She ran right into his chest. "Oh, no," she moaned.

There was more lightening; she saw it reflected in his eyes. Tiny pinpricks flashed in his pupils, then his face was lost to shadow. "Hey, Max," he said conversationally, grabbing her by the collar. "Why are you running away?" 

She didn't bother answering. There was no reasoning with an irrational person. He struck her once sharply with the back of his fist, turning out the lights.

  
  


They weren't at Max's place. They weren't at Alec's. Neither of them were answering their phones. Logan made a quick stop at an S1W safe-house. Max was in real danger. He had to find them before something terrible happened. Where the hell were they? He picked up a package, forestalling Asha's questions with a wave of his hand. He went down to the street. He opened the car door.

Logan groaned as realization socked him like a fist in the gut. He looked up, swearing. Partially obscured by cloud was the city's insensate, hulking guardian, the Space Needle. Where else would they be? They were like cats. Wacky, fucked-up cats. They liked to be up high. When he had been shot, he had nothing to read in hospital. A nurse brought him a dog-eared, watermarked copy of Reader's Digest, thinking she was being kind. He took the vocabulary test, and then he'd had nothing better to do than read the articles. He remembered a story about a cat that went up a tree, and never came down. An elderly man had climbed a ladder every day to feed it. Logan slid into his car and began to drive, fuming. Eight hundred and forty-eight stairs!

  
  


To be continued. . .


	28. Obsession

28. Obsession

When Max came to, her ears were ringing. She was soaking wet and very cold. Alec was stroking her face, which freaked her out. She batted away his hand, and rolled to her side. For a second she was very dizzy; she almost vomited. She looked around, and wasn't very happy with what she saw. While she was unconscious, Alec had carried her all the way to the top of the Space Needle. She felt completely violated. She started to shiver. 

Great, she thought, this is just getting better and better. 

Then she had another thought, that if Alec didn't kill her, she was going to die anyway, from exhaustion. 

She sat up, and he loomed over her. "Max," he said earnestly. "I love you. I guess you knew that. I've wanted to tell you for a long time."

"Alec," she said flatly, "you just tried to rape me."

"No. No!" he said. "I love you." 

"You don't love me," she said, and she almost started to cry. "You don't even know what you're saying!"

"I want you to come away with me," he said inexorably. "Forget all this bullshit. Forget about Logan and White and all of those idiots."

She used her heels to push herself away from him. "Alec," she said carefully, "can you tell me where Logan is?"

"Who cares?" he yelled, startling her. He sounded furious. He jumped to his feet. "Why are we talking about Logan? I left Logan in the woods, and I haven't seen him since!" He started to say something else, then his eyes clouded over, and he just stared off into the distance.

She felt a dark wave of terror. What did he mean? She got to her knees. Then she got to her feet. She felt stretched out, thin and lightheaded. The roof of the observation deck was cold and slick under her bare feet. She took a step forward, and struck him with the flat of her hand. He went down on one knee. "Where the hell is Logan?" she yelled, right in his face. "What did you do?"

Then a strange thing happened; Alec became self-aware. It was as if an old friend had sidled up and hooked an arm around his shoulders, whispering in his ear: "Something is terribly wrong." Alec tried to catch that thought, he really did. He felt very strongly that it was important to examine it. Unfortunately, there were too many threads radiating away and he wasn't sure which one to follow. He hesitated, and then he was sucked under again. 

  
  


He was running through the jungle with blood on his hands and Special Forces on his heels. He jumped a murky stream, and stumbled into a clearing. Hot sunshine baked through the break in the verdant canopy. He was surprised to see a sleek great cat dozing languidly in the fork of a tree. She unfolded lazily, and dropped to the ground. She padded toward him, her long tail hooked into the shape of a question mark. "Yes," he said happily. She put a velvety paw on either of his shoulders, looking into his eyes. Then she raked her claws across his face. 

  
  


Alec shook his head, bewildered and hurt. The tower swayed minutely in the wind. The rain, hitting the deck was incessant, booming. Each drop jabbed him like a needle. He felt skinned. All his nerves and muscles were on the outside, exposed to the elements. His synapses shuffled randomly through his memories, showing him moments and then snatching them away. He had trained hard, and done what they told him. He had been a good soldier, and now he wanted his reward. Why was she being so selfish? Max could be childish; she always had to have everything her way. He was fed up with the unfairness of it all. All Max wanted to do was talk about that rotten Logan. 

He loved her. Couldn't she see that? The world was spinning, and she was the only point of focus. He had loved her forever. He was sure of it. They were soul mates, partners, and a perfect genetic match. She had only been created to be with him. He looked up at her. She was an angel.

"If I can't have you, neither can anybody else," he said. He leapt.

  
  


Max rolled away, coming to her feet in a liquid motion. They exchanged blows, each blocking the other. They were playing for keeps, and the stakes were deadly. The ground was nearly one hundred and eighty-four meters below. The circular roof slanted sharply, and there was a central dais housing an aircraft warning beacon. There wasn't much room for sparring. Battling viciously for supremacy, Max recognized a sinister satisfaction so primal it was almost arousal. This was why she had been built. In the wind and the rain, high above the rest of the world, she left ordinary time, and was ensnared in snarling animal confusion. 

She kicked sideways, hitting his throat. Alec gagged and faltered, then sprang at her, striking with his fist and catching her below her breast on the side of her rib cage. She sucked in air, jumping back. She rose up on her toes. He charged her, and she kicked again, but he blocked her with his forearm. She punched him, but it was risky getting too close, his reach was longer. He backpedaled, then dove at her. She sidestepped, hammering him between the shoulder blades with her hands clenched together. He staggered, then twisted sharply to face her, already throwing a punch. She ducked, sliding backwards on the slippery deck.

He snapped a double kick, causing her to stumble. She was hurting, and her strength was trickling away. He snaked his arms around her from behind, squeezing her. He lifted her off her feet. He buried his face in her hair. She struggled wildly, kicking the air. She took a deep breath, and head-butted him.

He made a sound, and she managed to wriggle away. She turned and clawed at him, catching the corner of his military issue T-shirt, and ripping it away from the neckband. He grabbed a handful of the shirt at the nape of his neck, and yanked it over his head. He wadded it into a ball, and tossed it into the sky. It unfurled with a wet snap, like a flag, and the wind carried it away. 

Growling, he leapt on her, and they crashed to the platform, struggling. His naked chest was greasy with rainwater, and she was able to squirm out from under him. Max rolled away and came to her feet with a prismatic grenade in her hand. She had a grenade in her hand, and it was live. "Oh, shit," she said. She yelled at him, "Why do you even have this? It's useless!"

She threw it away, as far and as high as she could get it.

  
  


Original Cindy, out on a run, skidded to a stop. Everybody was looking up into the sky, so she did too. There seemed to be fireworks going on over by the Space Needle. They were really kind of pretty, and she smiled, momentarily forgetting her troubles. They looked just like a rainbow.

  
  


Max executed a jumping kick and got a piece of his chin. He jumped back and then forward. He made forceful contact with a roundhouse punch, and she tasted salt and rust, falling. She skidded down to the edge of the platform, scrabbling madly with her fingers. She could get no purchase at all, and she fell over the edge. Alec lunged, and landed flat on his stomach, sliding forward. He caught her by the wrist. It looked like he was going to keep sliding, and that they were both going to fall. Then he braced his feet. Max dangled in the wind; for a moment she caught a glimpse of Puget Sound. She couldn't get up her other arm. Her wounded shoulder was nonfunctional. She was completely at his mercy.

He pulled her back up. When her feet touched, he put a hand on the small of her back and shoved her in the direction of the warning beacon. She fell gracelessly, with a splat. She lay on her stomach, twitching and breathing hard. She was finished.

He sank to his knees on the wet platform. "I wasn't going to hurt you," he said, enunciating carefully, because it was hard to talk.

She managed to turn herself over so she could watch him. She was horrified to see that he was crying. "Make it stop, Max," he said. His eyes were haunted, and in them Max thought she caught a glimpse of the person she knew to be Alec. "Oh, God," he cried. "I don't know what's going on!"

She tried to sit up.

"My head!" he said. "I can't think. I can't take it any more."

She couldn't move. She didn't have the strength.

"Manticore never fixed me! They said they did, but they didn't!"

She couldn't answer.

"I can't stand it! You have to kill me," he said. "I want you to kill me. Make it stop before I get any worse."

"She won't kill you," said a voice. "But I will." Gun in hand, Logan stepped out on the roof.

"That better not be the Ruger I gave to Max,"Alec said, with considerable annoyance. 

Logan closed one eye and sighted. He fired

  
  
  
  


To be continued. . ..


	29. Shock Treatment

29. Shock Treatment

Alec was on an examining table, thrashing and raving. The tranquilizer dart had already cycled through his system."You have to restrain him, now!" barked Logan, hitting him with a stun baton. Alec convulsed, moaning. He took a swipe at Logan, so Logan shocked him again, taking perverse pleasure in the thought of 500,000 volts crashing through Alec's CNS.

Doctor Carr was horrified. "Stop that this instant!" he said. "I can't have you abusing my patient!"

"Sam," Logan grunted. "You're just not getting it." He shocked Alec again. 

"He doesn't know what's going on!" Sam yelled. "He thinks we're attacking him!"

"You know what?" Logan said. "I am attacking him!"

"Okay, stop that! Calm down. Look, he's photosensitive," Sam said, like that explained everything. He turned out the light over the exam bed. Alec stopped struggling. He lay still. His chest was heaving, and tears were dripping out of his eyes.

"Sensory overload," said Sam. He put a hand on Alec's chest.

"Prick," said Logan.

"Just stop," said Sam. "He's sick. It's not his fault."

"Tell that to Max," said Logan. "He's dangerous."

Alec lunged, as fast as a whiplash, and caught the doctor by the windpipe. He lifted Sam, and the doctor's feet left the floor. Logan shocked Alec, and because they were in contact, Sam as well. Alec seized, groaning, and dropped the doctor. Sam fell to the floor in an untidy heap.

"Now do you get it?" Logan asked.

  
  


Max and Logan sat side by side on a couch in the waiting room. She had been tended to, and had her arm in a sling. She was wearing a faded, rose-colored shift one of the nurses had scrounged from the lost and found. She had a threadbare navy cardigan of the same provenance draped over her shoulders. On her feet were a pair of white canvas running shoes that were more or less her size. She was tired, physically and spiritually. 

She looked at the fine line of Logan's cheek, the faint golden stubble. He was so close, and she couldn't touch him. In her fatigue, sad little thoughts were floating around her brain like spirit puffs ghosting through a cemetery. She was thinking of Alec, trained by Manticore as a dealer of death. Like her brother Ben, he had begged her for release. She was thinking of Logan, her hamstrung suitor, closer than a minute, and farther away than the moon. 

The hospital was quiet at this hour of the morning. Apart from one nurse, who was poking around behind the nursing station, Logan and Max were the only people there. Max stuck out her feet, looking at the dumb white running shoes. There was another thing she was thinking. She was never going to be able to touch Logan. She was diseased, poisonous and unclean. She had come very close to sending Logan to his maker, and she was petrified. The idea of Logan dying was devastating. She couldn't look at it, so she closed her eyes. Did she have to stay away from him? She wouldn't be able to bear causing his death.

"Was anything in Eva's notes true?" she asked him. "Anything at all?"

"I don't know," Logan said. "I don't think so. I think White destroyed her research."

"What about the other name?" she asked. "What was it? Sandoval?"

"I don't know." He sighed. "Maybe it was a dead end. Maybe he had a whole other trap set up for you, just in case. He got lucky, with some of the stuff that happened."

"I was dumb," she said bleakly. "Just plain dumb. It can't happen again."

  
  


"Frankie Sullivan hired a security expert to booby-trap his valuables," Logan was explaining. "With a neurotoxin, as it turns out. Can you believe it? I put it together when I heard on the radio that they'd located his wife. They were thinking she'd been kidnaped."

"Oh," said Max.

"By you," said Logan.

"Uh-oh," said Max.

"Well, you did break into the guy's house," said Logan. "Anyhow, they don't know who you are."

"Nice to know we did something right," said Max.

"She was wandering around the city, apparently having a breakdown. She was hallucinating."

"It was the gas?" asked Max.

"Frankie got a dose too," said Logan. "He was out of it. So was the so-called security expert. Get this, he dreamed up the dog-man, and made that report to the police. It was all delusion."

"Oh, man," said Max.

"There was a leak in the system, and it was seeping all over the mansion. Who knows who else was exposed?"

"So I breathed it too," said Max.

"But it didn't hurt you," he said.

"I don't get it," said Max.

"You didn't get sprayed in the face," said Logan, shrugging. "Anyhow, White saw an opportunity with that police report, and he took it."

Max sighed. 

"So Alec got a snoot full, and it knocked him silly," said Logan. "It explains his behavior."

"Maybe," said Max, doubtful. Only time would tell. 

"The others are really, really, sick," said Logan, "but I think we've established just how strong Alec is." He looked at her. Max's mouth was swollen and sore, and as he watched she touched the cut on her lip, wincing. She seemed so small. He remembered Alec carrying her out of White's compound, throwing her over his shoulder like it was nothing. Fervently, Logan wished he could sweep her into his arms, and carry her away. He was having his own thoughts about fortresses and strongholds. He wanted to take Max somewhere quiet and safe, like a castle on an island in the middle of the ocean. 

Max said tiredly, "I was finished Logan. I was beat. Up there on the tower. We fought, and I lost."

His breath caught in his throat, and he turned to face her, silent. When Logan had arrived at the top of the tower, Max was flat on her back, and Alec was leaning over her. The first thought he'd had was that Alec had forced himself on her. He was terribly afraid that she had been raped, and hadn't known how to ask. On their way down the stairs, as he dragged Alec by the ankles, and Alec's arms splayed out and his head thumped on the concrete, Logan had tried to form the question. He started to speak, and she'd cut him off, saying sharply, "No."

But he hadn't known if she meant no she hadn't been raped, or no--she didn't want to talk about it. They had picked their way down the stairs in miserable silence.

Now she said, "He didn't hurt me--not like you're thinking."

Logan let out his breath, and every muscle in his body relaxed.

"He wanted me to kill him," she said wonderingly, unaware that beside her Logan was struggling with his composure. "You heard him say that, didn't you?"

"Yeah. But he's sick, Max. He'll get better." He was prepared to be magnanimous, now he knew Alec hadn't sexually assaulted her.

"I lost," she said again. "He beat me."

"You were hurt Max," he said. "And even at that, you fought him to a standstill. It was hardly a fair fight. He was hypo-manic, and you had been tortured and shot."

She shifted uncomfortably. "None of the fights are fair," she said. There was something she wanted to explain, that she had to win all the fights, all the time, but she was just too tired, so instead she said: "If he hadn't quit when he did, there was no way I could have stopped him."

"Max," said Logan, "He did stop. It's over now. You're going to be okay, and that's all that matters to me." He reached into his coat pocket. "Hey, look what I got," he said, deliberately changing the subject. He pulled out a brown paper sack.

"What is it?" asked Max. Logan rolled down the lip of the bag, and showed her the bottle. 

She laughed. "Where did you get that?"

"From a guy in the street, while they were fixing up your arm." He didn't tell her that last night, after Sam had picked himself up and dusted himself off, he had worked up a treatment plan for Alec. He had gotten Alec settled. Then he had thrown Logan out of the hospital, threatening to call security. Logan had wandered the streets around Harbor Lights, muttering and swearing, thinking dark thoughts about rape and retribution, and the inefficacy of justice when all parties involved were genetic experiments on the lam from the law.

"You bought it in the street?" she said. "You'll go blind."

"Live a little," he said laughing. "We're going to have a smart cocktail, or two. We earned it. Anyhow, the bottle has a factory seal." He picked at the neck of the bottle, but couldn't crack the seal. "Here, open that, would you?" He passed it to her. She tucked the bottle into her sling, and twisted off the cap with her good hand. She handed it back to him. "Do you want a sip?" he asked.

"Are you gonna drink out of that?" she said.

"Oh, right," he said, wrinkling his brow. "Sit tight." He got up, and left the waiting room.

Max sat by herself, thinking about nothing. The space between her ears was only powdery cobwebs. At one point she looked up and by accident caught the eye of the nurse. He was a tattooed, brawny guy with a long, stringy ponytail. He smiled at her and winked. She looked down at her shoes.

Logan came back, and handed her a heavy mug. The glaze was cracked all over, and on the front it said: "Happiness is a warm speculum." 

"Ew," she said, reading the slogan. He poured out a couple of fingers for her. She took a sip, and choked. "Smooth," she said, smiling at him.

The nurse stood at his station and called out, "Hey, you can't drink alcohol, not in here."

Logan sighed. The nurse came over to the waiting area. He stood in front of them, looking stern. "Howdy," said Logan.

"I'm sorry, guys," the nurse said. "I'm going to have to confiscate your mickey."

"How about if you just confiscate this much," Logan said, indicating a couple of centimeters with his thumb and forefinger.

"I'm on duty," said the nurse. "It's first thing in the morning." He looked over his shoulder, shrugged, and looked down at Logan. "Make it a double, and you've got yourself a deal."

"Excellent," said Logan.

The nurse went to his desk, and came back with his coffee mug. "Hit me," he said.

"Pleasure doing business with you," said Logan.

Max drank her smart cocktail, and for a while she and Logan sat in companionable silence. Then she said, "Give me money. I'm hungry."

"There's nothing open yet," Logan replied.

"I'll make a raid on the vending machines. Want something?"

"Naw," said Logan. "Let's just get out of here. I'll cook something for you. We can't do anything else today, anyway."

They stood and headed for the door, walking side by side. The running shoes made sucking noises as she walked, because she wasn't wearing socks.

"I just can't buy that one little whiff of gas would put Alec in such a tailspin," Max said suddenly. She lowered her voice as they passed the nursing station. "Manticore made us immune to so many bio-agents."

"Manticore is yesterday's news, Max," Logan replied, equally quietly. "Sadly, science marches on. People are always going to find new and better ways to poison themselves. But, I'll admit, this setup at Frankie Sullivan's really takes the cake. What a bunch of crackpots."

"Well," said Max, as they reached the stairs. "I think the idea was to drop any burglar right in his tracks. I don't think Frankie was planning on handing anybody over to the cops."

"Hmm," said Logan. 

"We're going to need some big bucks to cover this treatment," said Max. Sam Carr was flushing Alec's system, and giving him antipsychotics. Alec was more subdued now, and very depressed.

"Yeah," agreed Logan. "Sam is going to need to grease a lot of palms to keep Alec here, and keep everything quiet."

"Oh, dammit," Max sighed. "I guess I know where there are some very expensive shoes we can fence."

"That seems about right." Logan smiled.

"So Frankie's wife was wandering around the city, out of her gourd," said Max. "That's scary."

"Yeah," said Logan. "Frankie was sacked out back at the mansion, and she was just lost. Anything could have happened to her."

"She could have had the good fortune to bump into Alec," she said with a laugh. "Can you imagine?"

"No," said Logan. "And I don't care to. That would be too weird, even for Alec."

  
  
  
  


To be continued . . .


	30. Not So Fast

30. Not So Fast

"Play it again," said Harrison Rabbit, waving a stick-thin finger at the monitor.

"You've watched it fifteen times already," replied his colleague, blowing a foul stream of cigar smoke up at the ceiling. 

"I want to watch it again," said Mr. Rabbit. "Is that too much to ask? And get those great feet off my desk."

Sighing, Feighan Rourke uncrossed his ankles, and put his feet on the floor. The computer chair squealed as he rolled close enough to reach the keyboard. He cued up the surveillance footage (of course there is surveillance footage) that they had withheld from their employer, Francis Sullivan. Rourke and Rabbit Arms and Ammunition was widely sought after, and accepted a fat paycheck for its security services. Feighan Rourke and Harrison Rabbit answered to no man, and especially not to a crass, two-bit, backwater small-timer like Francis Sullivan. In any event, they were hoping Frankie Sullivan was not going to recuperate from his unfortunate exposure to a certain neurotoxin. It would be inconvenient if some small irregularities of inventory at the Sullivan household came to be more closely examined.

"Lovely boy," Mr. Rourke commented, watching the monitor. He was a big guy, with dark hair and snappy blue eyes; in another life he'd been a professional athlete, a celebrated footballer. His claim to fame was twofold: in a draw against Germany, he had scored a difficult goal in an overtime kickoff, taking the match for Ireland. Then he'd thrown his career in the crapper when he french-kissed Michael Ballack in front of God and four billion TV viewers. In the light from the monitors, his face was craggy from smoke and drink, but he was still a handsome man.

"Lovely girl," rejoined Mr. Rabbit. "Very athletic." Harrison Rabbit had served twenty-two years in the British SAS. To the casual observer, he was fussy and sulky and maybe a bit of a prig. In reality, he was tough and weathered. He'd been a crackerjack soldier, practically deified by his unit. He got lost in the crowd, but that was the point. Dangerous men don't wear neon signs. They're soft-footed and sneaky.

"Look how quickly he woke up," said Mr. Rourke. "Interesting."

"Very," Mr. Rabbit agreed. "This bears further attention. Indirect exposure from seepage is one thing, but he was sprayed point blank, right in the kisser! Could he still be alive?" He laughed as the girl slapped the boy. It was still funny, after all this time.

"She seems fine," said Mr. Rourke, shifting his beefy frame. 

"Just think what we could do with two such fine young acrobats on our pay roll," said Mr. Rabbit. "Why, the possibilities are endless."

"We'd have to find them first," said Mr. Rourke unenthusiastically. Sure, the boy was pretty, but the girl looked like a real bitch. And Rourke and Rabbit Arms and Ammunition had already made personnel changes. They had been forced to permanently retire a valued staff member for making absurd phone calls to the Sector Police.

"Hard copy her face, and his too, while you're at it," said Mr. Rabbit. 

Mr. Rourke sighed. "He's probably six feet under," he said sourly. 

"Don't be jealous," said Mr. Rabbit. "My interest is purely professional."

"I've heard that tune before," said Mr. Rourke, with a petulant Irish lilt.

"I can't believe they took the shoes," said Mr. Rabbit.

"Those brats," said Mr. Rourke.

"They'd be a fine addition to the team," said Mr. Rabbit.

"That young lad would be a fine addition to my bedroom," said Mr. Rourke, looking at the monitor.

"Oh, come along, Dorothy," said Mr. Rabbit, as always plumy and irritatingly British. "You don't want any of those apples."

  
  


Sam Carr's lab was cool and wonderfully quiet. Logan sat on a stool, watching the doctor put a slide under his microscope. He was enjoying the change of pace. Was it too late to get out of the adventure business, and become a lab tech? He had stopped by to tell Sam he was sorry for everything that was going on. Despite the purple, hand-shaped bruise on his throat, Sam had accepted the apology with his usual easy-going grace. The two men moved onto a discussion of Alec's situation. 

"I can coordinate the treatment, but we're going to have to move him often." Sam said, without looking up. His voice was still hoarse. 

"Different facilities, different names," Logan agreed. He shoved aside a thick mass of printouts, and leaned on the counter.

"Yeah," said Sam. "It's going to be complicated."

"We have the cash, and I can help you with the paperwork," said Logan, "Admitting privileges, whatever. I'll just insert you in those data bases. It won't be a problem."

"I hope not," said Sam. "That boy's life depends on access to treatment. And I don't want to get caught. I'd lose my license."

"I'll do whatever I can," said Logan. "I don't have a choice. Max's safety depends on this, too. We have to keep Alec under the radar."

Sam straightened with a groan, rubbing the small of his back. He tossed his glasses on the counter, and went over to the coffee pot. He poured out a mug and offered it to Logan. Logan shook his head. He wanted to hang onto his mellow mood for as long as he could. Who knew when the next crisis would erupt?

"You know," said Sam, looking at him, "I want to study this kid as much as anything else. Is that wrong?"

"No," said Logan. "I can appreciate that it's seductive."

"I got used to thinking of Max as a sport. Mutant singular." He took a sip of his coffee, making an appreciative noise.

Logan held his tongue. There was an army of transgenics out there.

"He's got a major case of road rash," Sam said out of the blue.

"Pardon?" said Logan.

"Yeah. I wonder how that happened. His back is scraped to hell."

"I have no idea," Logan said guiltily.

Sam drank his coffee. Logan looked at the floor, feeling like the world's biggest heel. It was not his custom to beat up on unconscious men. Had he been too hard on Alec? Alec was Alec, and it was more or less his nature to be in trouble up to his eyeballs. There was no point in wishing otherwise. 

"It'll be good to have Max for a benchmark comparison," Sam said. "I just wish I had a copy of his history."

Logan shrugged. "I think you're safe in assuming he's disgustingly healthy."

"That's just it," Sam said. "He's not."

Logan was surprised. "What?" 

"The humans--" Sam caught himself with an embarrassed laugh. "The other victims, they're critically ill. Between you and me, Sullivan has brain lesions. Barring some science fiction fix, he's not gonna recover from that. And that idiot who installed the system--it was like he'd had a major stroke."

"Wow," said Logan. "What about the wife?" He was disturbed by the doctor's telling slip. He considered Sam Carr to be an ally, and had entrusted him with some serious secrets. If Sam differentiated between human and transgenic on anything other than a clinical level, they were all in deep shit. 

"Well," said Sam, "she was a Sparacino before she married Sullivan. They're circling the wagons. I think she was being a little too talky, if you know what I mean. Anyhow, they've whisked her off to a private institution back east."

"That's too bad," said Logan. "She's probably the only innocent victim in this whole mess."

"So get this," said Sam. "The security guy vanished."

"Vanished how?" Logan asked.

"I think somebody dropped the ball, and he wandered out of here."

"Jeeze," Logan said.

"Yeah. So, back to Alec. All of his stats are poor."

"What d you mean?" said Logan, shifting on his stool. "I thought you said he was on the mend."

"He's recovering from his exposure to the gas," said Sam. "That's not the problem. He's decompensating."

"Right," said Logan. "Psychologically."

"No," said Sam. "Physically. His heart isn't functioning properly. There's an oxygenation issue. It's probably why he was vulnerable to exposure in the first place."

"I don't understand," said Logan. "That sounds really serious."

"Look," Sam said. "For Alec, this exposure was like a massive dose of MDMA, or mescaline."

"Ouch," said Logan. "The X5's have serotonin problems to begin with."

"There you go," Sam said. "He was catapulted into a manic cycle. He was delusional. He was probably hearing voices, or seeing pink elephants. Fine, whatever, he's getting over it. But when I worked him up, I found all sorts of disturbing things. Can you explain to me why his blood sugar is too high?" Logan shook his head. Sam threw his hands up in disgust. He picked up a sheaf of paper, and waved it around. "Do you really think Manticore turned out a lot of Type II diabetics? And his cholesterol, how can he have high cholesterol? That really makes no sense. Then there's his sed rate."

"Sed rate?" Logan asked.

"It's not the most useful test in the world, but it indicates the presence of inflammation," said Sam. "He's having pain of some sort."

"What kind of pain?"

"When he wakes up," Sam said, "we can ask him. If he stops being crazy."

Logan was totally perplexed. "Now you're weirding me out," he said. "What does all this mean?"

"I don't know," said Sam.

"Does Alec have brain damage like the others?"

"He's suffering from cellular decay." Sam said carefully. "His immune system in general is compromised."

"I don't follow," said Logan.

"Well," said Sam, "it's beyond me too. The differential alone took up all my poor brain cells. It's not like I was able to come to any super-duper conclusions. I couldn't tell you how it's going to manifest."

"When did this start?" asked Logan. "Are you sure it wasn't the toxin?"

"This has been going on for a while," said Sam. "If you're asking me to backdate the deterioration, that's beyond my capabilities. You'll need one of your fancy Manticore scientists for that."

"It can't have been going on for long," said Logan. "He's only been out of Manticore a few months. They would never have let him out of the lab if he was just going to fall apart."

"Well, perhaps some catalyst is at work," said Sam. "Something he's come into contact with since then."

"Like what?" said Logan

"Your guess is as good as mine at this point," said Sam. 

Logan made an unhappy noise. "No, it's not."

"Anyhow," said Sam, "I didn't say he was falling apart. I just said that this condition existed."

"Is it reversible?" asked Logan.

"You'll have to ask somebody who knows the answer to that," said Sam, "for example, not me. I just came into this story at the last possible second. I'm still trying to figure out what's going on. But I think we can manage some of it, for a while, with medication. His blood pressure, maybe."

"His blood pressure!" Logan said, amazed. "This is nuts."

"That's what I'm trying to express to you. I don't know if I'm being effective." 

Logan sat up straight, as something occurred to him. "He's a clone," he said. "Were you aware of that?"

"No," said Sam. "I wasn't."

  
  
  
  


To be continued . . .


	31. We are not part of those people

31. We are not part of those people

Max kicked open the door and wheeled her bike into the room. She dropped her Jam Pony pouch. It fell heavily to the floor and there was a glassy crunch as some little thing broke. She shoved the bag out of the way with her foot, and leaned her bike against the wall. She had spent the morning at a memorial service at the university, and was behind in her work. She was carrying double her usual load, and then some. 

She had brought her bike up in the elevator, balanced on its rear tire. In a society crippled by fuel shortages, messengers were ever present in all places, a fact of life. They were members of a proletarian sect woven across the breadth of human history. They lived in their own sweaty circles of Zen. They took up space in elevators, looking up and watching the floor numbers change, grubby, smelly, and unusually still. Folks hardly ever complained, even in hospitals.

The room was quiet and dark. Peaceful.

"Alec," she said. "Do you hear me? Are you in there?" She peeled back one of his eyelids, but there was no response. He was completely vacant. She sighed and pulled over a chair. She sat, resting her elbows on the bed.

She wondered if they were taking good care of him. This was his third facility. He was getting the full on rock star treatment, hush-hush anonymity. It seemed like a nice enough place, with flowers, and a radio soft in the background, over by the nurse's station. Was it on her to make sure he was okay? If not, then whose job was it? It wasn't like he had a mom to keep tabs on him, to make sure the staff wasn't being mean. 

Alec was wearing hospital issue pajama bottoms. On the night stand there was a basin of soapy water, with a drippy washcloth hanging over the side. There was a scattering of lemon swabs on the tray. His colorless hair was damp on his forehead; someone had given him a prep school comb, the way women always comb a guy's hair, if they get the chance. He was very pale, except for the bruised hollows under his eyes. 

He was still tied down at the wrists and ankles. There were wide straps across his chest and thighs. Nobody knew what was going to happen when he woke up. Max knew what it was like to be a prisoner; she had been tied down herself not that long ago. It was the worst feeling in the world. Would they cut you, shock you, burn you? Was he afraid? She wondered if he even knew what was going on. Where was he in his head? Was he anywhere near the surface? She watched him as he lay there, quiet in the bed, looking young and somehow unformed. That was when she started to forgive him. She saw the steady rise and fall of his chest, but it was his bare feet, more than anything, that affected her. Feet were everything to a soldier. 

"Hey," she said, to her fallen comrade.

She knew that he'd had another episode. When she'd been walking past the nursing station, she heard her name. She went firm, casting about for more information, ready to flee. Then she realized nobody was talking to her. They were talking about Alec. The staff thought Alec was suicidal, the bipolar son of a senator, lovelorn and detoxing from heroin out of the public eye. That was the story Sam and Logan had cooked up. The nurses thought it was all very romantic, although they were disappointed he was gay. He kept calling out for his boyfriend Max. Hearing that, Max had retreated hastily, feeling like an interloper. She didn't want to know. She wasn't here to spy on Alec. 

Logan had explained everything to her. Alec's mind was messed up from the gas. It was temporary. Hopefully, he was going to get better. She wasn't entirely sure that she one hundred percent bought that explanation, though. Logan was being cagey; he was distant and guarded. He was holding something back. She had breathed that gas too, and she was perfectly fine. But she didn't press, she had her own secrets.

For a moment, with revulsion, she relived the near rape. Unlike other women, Max didn't have to face the threat of sexual violence from men. Being assaulted by another transgenic was something she had never anticipated. Worst of all had been the incestuous horror of looking into Alec's crazy face and seeing her brother Ben staring back at her. 

She thrust those dark thoughts aside. Until she knew differently, she had to believe he hadn't known what he was doing. They were friends, after a fashion. They had been raised by the same shadowy government agency, and were on the run from an insane breeding cult. He had been X5-494, while she was X5-452, and they were of a kind. 

The distance between Max and Logan was like a winter night. It was a bad dream. She tried to cross it, but she couldn't. She was struggling on shifty ground, trying to find her way back to her man, but the virus was a blizzard, obscuring every path. She was losing Logan. 

She had lost her brothers and sisters too, all of them. She flashed on Ben, dead in the woods with a twisted neck. She saw Tinga, floating in a tank, her hair like seaweed. Brin was recaptured and brainwashed, Renfro's commando. Then there was Zack. She put a hand on her chest and felt his strong muscle pulsing under her rib cage. 

She did not even live in the same world as Logan. She couldn't. No matter how much she and hers tried to hide among the masses, they were always exposed in their uniqueness. They were elite, they were scary, and they were not welcome. As Eyes Only, Logan was a wanted man; his street cred was as close as his own paralyzed legs. But Logan was a civilian. He traveled a righteous, daylight path. Max skulked in shadow, reflexively stopping to sniff and listen. She could chase Logan for an eternity, as long as the moon chased the sun, but if she ever caught him, it would be the end of the world.

Max tentatively took Alec's hand, and stroked it carefully. Up on the tower, lashed by the wind, soaking wet and bewildered, Alec had begged her to kill him. In an eerie flash of lightening, there had been the electric pain of memory, as Ben's face was exactly superimposed on Alec's, and in her head she heard the words: "Don't leave me here. Don't let them take me!" She was incredibly grateful it hadn't come to that. She thought maybe that would have snapped her own mind, and sent her someplace so bad and scary she could never have crawled out. After everything that had happened, there were questions she wanted to ask the universe, and these questions were howling inside her head. They made her throat ache and her stomach burn. She had searched for the others for so long! Why did she have to kill her own brother? Why did Ben have to die in the woods? Why couldn't it have ended like this for him? Why wasn't it her brother in this quiet room, in that soft bed, with sweet nurses smiling because they were halfway in love with him, caring for him with gentle hands? 

This is what she said to Alec. She said: "I don't know how much of what went on between us was true. I don't know if you meant some of the things you said. I don't know if you meant it when you said - " She broke off, then plunged ahead. "I don't know if you meant it when you said you love me. You were pretty confused there for a while."

She was quiet for a moment, pulling together her thoughts. She had several messages she wanted to deliver. Now was as good a time as any, with Alec unconscious and unable to interrupt. "Logan and I can't be together. It's dangerous for me to even be around him. But he loves me so much, Alec. I can't just leave him! Nobody ever loved me like that before. I didn't know anyone could." 

She looked at the floor. Earlier at the university, as she sat beside Logan on an uncomfortable plastic chair, listening to all those sad people, heartsick and miserable in the knowledge that the murder of Eva Vadas was her fault, she had accidentally bumped Logan. Her head swam, and she sank into the forbidden contact with something like despair, drowning, all of her senses telescoping down to that fragile point where the shoulder of her jacket brushed his arm. Then she pulled away, and he pulled away, and they did not speak of it after. "I guess I just don't feel very lovable," she said hoarsely, to Alec.

She paused.

"I'm always going to love him, because he was my first." She put her head in her hands. It was the right time to cry, so she did that for a little while. 

Then she sniffed, and said, "So, Manticore paired us up, you and me. Maybe it was just random. Maybe they had big plans. Who knows? But what I do know is that they looked at some numbers and that was how they decided. That's not love, Alec. That's a science experiment."

In a nervous gesture, she ran her hands through her hair. "Maybe you and I were made for each other. But Manticore doesn't get to decide that anymore." She looked away for a minute, thinking. He couldn't hear her. He was out. She confessed: "I know I care what happens to you, and not just because of Ben."

She touched his arm. "You really came through for us, Alec. Even though you were totally off your rocker. You saved us. I don't know how you pulled it off, but you got us out of there. Me and Logan. White was going to kill us both. I'm trying to say that I'm happy to be alive. Logan is happy to be alive." She gently touched his face, cupping his cheek with her palm. "I hope that when you wake up, you're going to be happy to be alive too." 

She stood, and pushed her chair back against the wall. "I hope you forget everything that happened. That's what I'm going to do. I even hope you forget this." 

She put a delicate hand on his chest. She leaned forward, and her hair was silk and shadow, falling around her face. She kissed him softly on the lips. She left the room, much more quietly than she'd come.

He opened his eyes.

  
  


The End

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Keep your eyes peeled for "Gods to Men," the sequel to "The Stronghold."

  
  


Coming Soon!


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